


Savour Each Moment

by Llereurol



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: BAMF Aziraphale (Good Omens), BAMF Crowley (Good Omens), Episode: s01e01 In the Beginning, Episode: s01e02 The Book, Episode: s01e03 Hard Times, Episode: s01e04 Saturday Morning Funtime, Episode: s01e05 The Doomsday Option, Eventual Smut, Gratuitous Use of Queen Songs, Idiots in Love, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Light Angst, M/M, Missing Scene, Mutual Pining, Pining, Sentient Bentley (Good Omens), Snake Crowley (Good Omens), The Bentley Ships It (Good Omens), drinking like it's the end of the world, gratuitous use of lines from the novel, mild homophobia, which it is
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-12
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:40:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 46,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22684120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Llereurol/pseuds/Llereurol
Summary: “So we’re agreed then. No giving up. Work together. Prevent the end of the world.”This story takes place within cannon, but with some added scenes and material along the way.So, basically this is me thinking about what could of happened between scenes in a show that has taken over my life. Mainly written for my benefit but you guys can read too if you like!
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 28
Kudos: 38





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Where an Angel and a Demon try to savour what time they have left before having to do something about impending Armageddon.

Chapter 1- Episode: In The Beginning

The drive to the bookshop was silent, apart from the radio that had plenty to say on a variety of topics, ranging from why sharks love jazz and how millennials are ruining the napkin industry. Crowley had only switched the radio back on so that the only sound filling the Bentley wouldn’t be Aziraphale’s harsh intakes of breath as Crowley took sharp corners at what the demon regarded as a reasonable speed. The last time they had looked at each other was at the beginning of the journey back to Soho. Crowley had given a rather pointed look at the cake still plastered across the side of Aziraphale’s face, a look that stated quite strongly that Aziraphale better not get any of that stuff on the Bentley otherwise there would be heaven to pay. With a soft “oh” of realization the angel miracled the cake away but forgot to remove the ridiculous moustache which he had borrowed Crowley’s eyeliner to administer. For once, Crowley had no desire to comment, his head too filled with Antichrists and Hell Hounds to care.

They pulled up outside the bookshop and as soon as Crowley cut the engine Aziraphale immediately asked:

“Would you like to come in for a drink?”

Aziraphale wasn’t quite ready for the demon to leave his company just yet. It had been a trying day what with losing the Antichrist and the rudeness of the children watching his magic show still left his ears burning. His show hadn’t been that bad! Admittedly there had been one or two errors but the children he had performed to back in the 1800’s hadn’t seemed to mind. Although now he came to think of it, the deadpan faces staring up at him had been eerily similar…

Crowley only nodded to Aziraphale’s offer and got out of the car. Aziraphale followed suit and as he unlocked the door for them remarked;

“I’m just going to get changed. Take a seat and I’ll be with you in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.”

Aziraphale headed upstairs while Crowley walked over to the back room clicking his fingers lazily as he went. He was now back in his usual black attire, preferring to miracle his clothes rather than buy them like Aziraphale. It made the process a lot faster and less of a faff, and there was the difference between them. Aziraphale liked to take his time and savour things and Crowley wondered how much time was left for them to enjoy themselves and to savour... savour moments…

_"You go too fast for me Crow-"_

_Let’s not think about that right now._

Aziraphale, true to his word, wasn’t very long and before Crowley knew it was coming down the stairs back in his usual style and thankfully, moustache-less. Crowley slumped down into a chair at the table while Aziraphale busied himself with retrieving two glasses and his decanter of single malt and finally Crowley spoke.

“Armageddon is days away and we’ve lost the Antichrist. Why did the powers of Hell have to drag me into this anyway?”

“Don’t quote me on this,” replied Aziraphale as he began to pour, “but I’m pretty sure it’s because of all those memos you kept sending saying how amazingly well you were doing.”

“Is it my fault they never check up? I’m to blame they never check up? Everyone stretches the truth a bit in memos to head office you know that.”

“Yes, but you told them you invented the Spanish Inquisition, and started the Second World War, and-”

“So the humans beat me to it. That’s not my fault.”

Aziraphale couldn’t help but enjoy the banter. He always had of course, but after such a long silence between them, things were starting to feel normal again. That is until Crowley started sniffing the air around them.

“Something’s changed.”

“Oh, it’s a new cologne,” Aziraphale began, still riding on the relief that Crowley had begun to speak again. “My barber suggested-”

“Not you, I know what you smell like!” Crowley snapped.

_He does?_ Aziraphale pondered.

_Well of course he does, we’ve know each other for six thousand years!_

Aziraphale turned his focus to what the demon could be smelling. Then Crowley stilled.

“The hell hound has found its master,” Crowley stated with more than a hint of dread.

“Are you sure?” Aziraphale asked, not quite keeping the dread out of his own voice.

“I felt it. Would I lie to you?”

“Obviously. You’re a demon. That’s what you do.”

That stung Crowley. Yes he had lied a few times. It was part of the job as a demon. Not to Aziraphale though. Never to Aziraphale.

“No I’m not lying. The boy, wherever he is, has the dog. He’s coming into his power. We’re doomed.”

Crowley, not for the first time, was glad of his glasses to mask his emotion. He could feel the fear rising through his chest and did his best to keep the panic out of his voice. Not entirely successfully.

“Well then,” Aziraphale’s heart sank. “Welcome to the end times.”

He tried to take a drink but couldn’t resist looking up from his glass to Crowley, knowing full well the grief that was filling his eyes. They stared at each other silently for a bit until Crowley broke the spell and leaned back in his chair his gaze fixed on the table between them instead. They lapsed into another silence. The sorrow mingled with the dust particles from the many books surrounding them. Neither could think of what to say. Not that neither had anything they wanted to say, there was just too much _**to**_ say. No more dinners. No more drives in the Bentley. No more nights of drinking in the back room of the bookshop. The hope that they could have avoided all this, that possibly there was a way to have more time to do the things they loved, to do them together was gone. Now there were only three days, and most of one day had already gone…

“How could we have lost the Antichrist?!” Aziraphale exclaimed, unable to bear the silence anymore.

“Dunno,” Crowley replied, his focus still on the table.

“There must be something we can do. I know we wasted these last eleven years on the wrong boy, but it was a good plan! And... and it would have worked, if we’d had the right boy I’m sure of it. So, there’s no reason why we can’t think of another plan-"

“Angel,” Crowley interrupted suddenly.

Aziraphale regarded Crowley expectantly, with the hope that Crowley had had an idea.

“Do you mind if I stay here this evening?” Crowley addressed this to the table. “I really don’t feel like going back to my flat any time soon.”

Aziraphale was slightly disappointed at the lack of ideas, but also felt a swell of happiness at the request. He did not fancy being alone right now either.

“Of course dear boy,” he answered brightly. “Stay as long as you like.”

These words seemed to breathe some life back into Crowley as he finally tore his gaze from the table, gave Aziraphale a small smile, then brought his glass to his lips and downed its contents.

“Steady on!” said Aziraphale disapprovingly. “You’re supposed to savour it!”

“Yeah well, not sure I have a lot of time left to savour anything anymore.”

He intended to keep his voice light and jokey, but upon seeing Aziraphale slump his shoulders and sigh, he realised that maybe it hadn’t come across that way. It was Aziraphale’s turn to now look at the table. His brow slightly frowned in thought. He had passed his drink absentmindedly to his left hand while his right lay face down on the table between them. Now that Crowley’s gaze was fixed on Aziraphale he could see how miserable the angel looked. Out of pure instinct he started to reach forward to comfort him by placing his own hand over Aziraphale’s. Purely to comfort mind, not because Crowley himself also needed some contact between them for his own sake. As his hand began to travel across the table Aziraphale just so happened to look up and their eyes locked together for a second. It was enough for Crowley to lose his nerve and reach for the decanter of whiskey instead, with an air of that’s what he was planning on doing all along. It wasn’t the right time. It never was.

“No, you’re right angel,” Crowley began as he poured himself another drink. “This vintage should be savoured.” He sat back and drank the tiniest of sips, then smacked his lips and gave an over-exaggerated “ahh” of contentment. Aziraphale only glared at him playfully.

“What? That’s what you sound like!”

“I do not sound like that!”

“Agree to disagree,” Crowley replied as he stood and walked over to Aziraphale’s desk.

“So tell me about the latest fiction you’ve been reading then.”

“Shouldn’t we be discussing how to find the Antichrist?” Aziraphale stood and followed Crowley to where he stood, holding up the book that he was referring to.

“Oh come on I know you’re _dying_ to,” Crowley smirked at him but Aziraphale looked unconvinced.

“Look, it’s been a long day and a lot has happened. Let’s take a breather, talk about something else for a bit and then we can focus on the end of the world.”

Crowley smiled a reassuring smile. Aziraphale thought for a moment and then relented. Crowley was right. He was dying to tell him all about it. He had hoped one day that he could convince Crowley to read at least one or two of his recommendations. He probably wouldn’t have time now. Still, it would be nice to pretend, at least for a little bit, that the clock hadn’t just began ticking towards Armageddon.

“Well,” Aziraphale began. Beaming he took the book gently from Crowley’s grasp. “This is the first book from His Dark Materials series and it has daemons in it! Just not the kind of demons like you are.”

“Tell me more.”

**\------------**

So Aziraphale had talked about the book in so much detail that there was not much point in Crowley reading it at all. Nor any point of reading the rest of the series either as Aziraphale had already read the entire works but had gone back to the beginning. “In preparation for the Book of Dust which is the next instalment” he had explained. Crowley was loathed to admit it, but it did sound like a good story.

“I swear I’ve seen a film about this,” Crowley suddenly remembered “The Golden Compass-"

“That movie is an abomination! Or… or so I’ve heard,” Aziraphale declared. He was unwilling to admit that he actually enjoyed watching a good film now and then, in the same way Crowley would never admit to actually enjoy reading a good book now and again. The conversation flowed as the whiskey was poured and very soon they had emptied the decanter and had to open a bottle. They had moved to the sofa as Aziraphale read out some of his favourite moments from the series. Crowley had his arm around the back of the sofa, leaning in closer to the angel so he could read along with what Aziraphale was reciting. Their knees had touched occasionally and Crowley’s hand had brushed against Aziraphale’s shoulder from time to time, but Aziraphale hadn’t seemed to mind, too wrapped up in his own enthusiasm. And anyway, Crowley was only being this close so he could see the book. Obviously.

Eventually Aziraphale stopped talking and looked around, realising that it was starting to get late and he needed to turn on the lights.

“We should probably talk about the elephant in the room now,” Aziraphale sighed getting up to turn on the lights.

“What… what elephant?” Crowley asked, suddenly tensing with anxiety. Was the angel about to comment on an unspoken feeling between them, one that Crowley had been suppressing for the last six thousand years? No surely not…

“The Antichrist!” Aziraphale responded exasperatedly “Did you think I was talking about an actual elephant?”

“No of course not! I just… oh never mind.”

Crowley once again downed his drink then reached for the bottle and found it empty.

“While you’re back there angel could you bring another bottle?”

“Already got one.” Aziraphale passed the bottle to Crowley and sat down at his desk and finished his own drink.

“So… where could the Antichrist be?”

Once again they sat in silence. Neither wanting to have this conversation. Nor did either of them have any idea where to begin.

Crowley went through the events of that night. He hadn’t done anything wrong. He’d delivered the Antichrist. Job done. Surely the nuns could have managed the swap. There were only two babies there it’s not rocket science. Granted the nun he did give the baby to did seem a bit… away with the fairies.

_What’s the word for that?_

Anyway the Mother Superior would have been there to oversee the swap and she was not… away with the fairies. So what went wrong?

There was that man he spoke to smoking a pipe outside. One of hell’s lot he had assumed, it was hard to tell these days. Could he have intervened somehow? Did Crowley have an enemy who wanted to make sure he’d fail, then swoop in at the last minute with the Antichrist and take all the glory?

Either way something had gone wrong and he was fucked.

Crowley relayed his thoughts to Aziraphale and they discussed possible places where the spawn of Satan could be well into the night and the next morning. By this point Crowley had started to doze off. He was laid out on the sofa with his limbs pointing in all directions while Aziraphale faced his desk with his head in his hands. To an observer it would have appeared that Aziraphale too had dozed off and in all honesty, Aziraphale himself wished he had. He needed some distraction from all the theories and worries he had flying around his head. Maybe he could do it, just this once. He felt his head beginning to drop when suddenly there was a loud knock at his shop’s entrance.

Aziraphale sat up abruptly and checked his pocket watch. It was opening hours.

“Oh… blast!” He stood up placing the watch hurriedly back into his pocket and miracled away all the alcohol still in his system.

“Crowley wake up!” Aziraphale commanded. Crowley just grunted in response.

“Please Crowley, I have to open up.”

“It’s the end of the world in three.. no… two days!” Crowley begrudgingly opened his eyes and began to sit up. “Just keep it closed!”

“I can’t! Like I was saying last night. I’m sure Heaven will have a closer eye on me as we get closer to the end. Besides, this shop has been closed more often than most over the last eleven years. What with all the gardening I had to do. It’s a miracle they didn’t notice how often I wasn’t here.”

“Well, miracles are what your lot do,” Crowley remarked as he searched for his glasses that had somehow fallen between the sofa cushions.

Aziraphale ignored him and went to open the door.

Having found his glasses Crowley stretched and also miracled the alcohol from his system. No more time for hangovers. He cleared up the bottles of whiskey and glasses and placed them back in the back room. Having let in his customers Aziraphale sought out Crowley, agitatedly wringing his hands.

“I don’t have the heart to be irritated by them.” He gestured to the front of his shop. “Not when I know the end is near for them.”

“Careful angel, keep talking like that and you’ll let someone buy a book next!”

“I just might you know!”

The banter died before it truly began. Aziraphale in particular not having the energy.

“You never know though,” Crowley began, hating seeing Aziraphale so defeated. “Might not happen. You’ll think of something.”

“Me?!”

“Well, I thought up the last plan. Your turn now.”

Aziraphale tutted then began to argue but Crowley cut him off.

“Besides you’re clever. You’re bound to think of something.”

“Crowley I’m flattered, but I really don’t think I can stop this.”

“Well not on your own you won’t. We’ll do it together. Course we will.”

Aziraphale couldn’t help but smile.

“An angel and a demon working together to stop the Apocalypse. They should write a song about us after this is all over.”

“Who, Heaven and Hell? I doubt it.”

“Nah, the humans. Better song writers than anyone upstairs, or downstairs for that matter.”

“Yes I know. I heard the lullabies you sang to Warlock.”

“So we’re agreed then. No giving up. Work together. Prevent the end of the world.”

Crowley held out his hand. With no hesitation, which took Crowley a bit by surprise, Aziraphale took it and shook it. Then Crowley found he didn’t want to let go. Aziraphale’s determination drained into concern.

“Crowley?”

“Just… savouring the moment…”

Aziraphale, not for the first time, wished Crowley didn’t have his glasses on so he could see more clearly what Crowley was thinking. The atmosphere had shifted and Aziraphale felt himself being pulled slightly closer to Crowley. Aziraphale’s mouth had gone suddenly dry and, if he’d had a heartbeat, it certainly would have sped up.

“Crowl-"

“Angel I need to say something. Well, maybe I shouldn’t I don’t know. But since we only have-"

“Get out!”

Crowley let go of Aziraphale’s hand in alarm.

“What?”

“You need to leave. I can sense them. Angels Crowley!”

Aziraphale was getting irritated at the slow pace at which Crowley and his brain were moving at.

“Out the back way. Quickly!”

“Shit! Sorry you don’t like swearing-"

“Never mind just hurry!”

“Right. Just let me know if you get any leads on, you know.”

“Yes, yes of course!”

Aziraphale ushered Crowley to the exit.

“I’ll be in touch,” Aziraphale said frantically as he shut the door on Crowley. On the other side of the door Crowley took a deep breath. Didn’t really need to of course, but habit.

“You better be,” Crowley muttered and carefully made his way around the side of the bookshop towards the Bentley.

Back in his shop Aziraphale tried to calm himself down. Adjusted his bow tie, took a deep breath of his own and walked out from behind a bookshelf.

“Can I help you?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this took longer to post than I intended! I've had a very busy week or so at work, but things have calmed down now so hopefully it won't be such a long wait for the next chapter. Hope you enjoy!

Chapter 2- Episode: The Book

Crowley resisted the urge to check the bookshop in his rear mirror again as he quietly sped off in his Bentley towards his Mayfair flat. He would have perhaps have noticed how hard he was gripping the steering wheel if he wasn’t instead focused on almost being caught by Archangels, losing the Antichrist and how he had been seconds away from saying something that he'd kept suppressed for a long time. Well, had tried to suppress. He had failed at doing that, just like he had failed at keeping an eye on the Antichrist and, if he was honest, at being a demon. 

To distract himself he turned on his CD player. He remembered he had inserted a collection of Haydn String Quartets into the player not too long ago.

_Ooh, ooh, pain is so close to pleasure, oh yeah_ _  
Sunshine and rainy weather go hand in hand together all your life_

It must have been longer ago than he thought. Crowley didn't tend to mind the switch to Queen songs normally, but this song in particular wasn't exactly improving his mood. 

_So in love but love had a bad reaction_ _  
I was looking for some good old satisfaction  
But pain is all I got when all I needed was some love and affection_

The demon sighed in frustration but made no attempt to turn off the music. There was something comforting about listening to songs that replicated your own mood. Justified it in a way.

_When your plans go wrong - you turn out the light_ _  
But inside of your mind you put up a fight_

_For better for worse, so let's make the best of the rest of our years_

That was too close to home. He aggressively stabbed the off button with a snarl. He didn’t have years to correct his mistake, or to spend with his best friend.

_Best friend?_

Well, yes he was. Had been from the beginning, from Crowley’s point of view anyway.

It was not that Crowley didn’t like that label on their relationship. Aziraphale was that. And more.

_And you nearly ruined that just now by opening your stupid mouth._

Crowley released some of his frustration and embarrassment by taking it out on some of the human obstacles on his journey. 

“Get off the road you clown!”

Crowley zoomed across the zebra crossing and would have missed the human completely if it wasn’t for his comical oversized shoes.

_______

Upon arriving at his flat Crowley had got out of the Bentley, had taken the lift to his floor, opened the front door with a snap of his fingers, walked in as the door closed with the sound of a gunshot behind him and then… just stood there. He had been so focused on getting away he hadn’t actually given much thought to what he was going to do when he got back. Crowley thought for a moment, then made his way through his flat towards his kitchen. He headed straight over to the fridge and opened it, staring at the stack of gourmet food inside. Nothing there appealed to him. As a being who didn’t exactly **_have_** to eat he wasn’t sure what made him think that he would now suddenly feel peckish. The fridge was only stocked at all in case he ever had Aziraphale over for dinner or something.

_No time for that now either._

Crowley slammed the fridge door closed, pulled off his glasses and chucked them onto a kitchen work top. He leaned against it and muttered to himself.

“Come on, think! What should I do now?”

It had become such a habit of his to talk to himself whenever he was back at his flat that Crowley barely registered that he was doing it anymore. The demon had never had anyone over, the flat itself had that unlived-in look that came from not really being lived in. It was just the place that Crowley went back to at the end of the day. A place where Crowley didn’t have to wear his glasses and a place where he could talk out loud.

There was something Crowley wanted to do, and without really thinking too hard about it, he found himself walking out of the kitchen and past his house plants to do it. To call Aziraphale.

He pushed through his revolving wall and picked up his phone then stopped himself. They had only just spoken and he was not even sure if it was safe to call yet. Besides, this was being super needy. Not how a cool, sophisticated demon should behave. He put the phone down and turned to switch on his elegant flat screen television with a click of his fingers. The perfect distraction. He hoped.

He should really have a sofa in here facing the T.V. Instead he had opted for a regal red and golden chair that did not even face towards it. Sofas were too homely, this is what a demon should sit in.

“ _Welcome back! Now, the government’s foreign affairs spokesman will be here to comment on the recent increase in international tensions. But first, do you know what’s in your fridge?”_

_Regret and gourmet dinners mostly._ Crowley thought bitterly. 

Then the television screen crackled and Crowley’s metaphorical heart sank. The pretty human hosts had been replaced by the repugnant Dukes of Hell. Hastur and Ligur.

“Morning Crowley,” said Hastur announcing his presence.

“Just checking in. Nice chair.” Ligur pointed.

“Hey guys.”

This is why he had the chair. It at least gave the appearance of how he wanted to be perceived by his superiors.

“It’s about the Antichrist,” Ligur continued.

“Yeah. Great kid. Takes after his Dad.”

“Our operatives in the state department have arranged for the child’s family to be flown to the Middle East,” explained Hastur.

“There he and the Hell Hound will be taken to the valley of Megiddo.”

“The Four Horsemen will begin their final ride. Armageddon will begin.”

“Yay,” Crowley interjected with what he hoped was enthusiasm.

“The final combat. It’s what we have been working towards since we rebelled. We are the fallen. Never forget that.”

Hastur’s tone was fervent with his usual hint of menace. 

“Well it’s not the sort of thing you forget!”

“I don’t trust you Crowley.”

“Everything’s going just fine.”

Crowley looked away and made the screen go blank. So much for distractions.

“I didn’t mean to fall.” Crowley defended himself out loud. “I just hung around the wrong people.”

He lent his head back until it hit the chair and closed his eyes. He needed to concentrate on his next move and not the anxiety squirming in the pit of his stomach. The Dowlings were not on their way to Megiddo just yet so he still had some time before his bosses realised his mistake. They were bound to when they met Warlock though. Even Hastur wasn’t that stupid.

To help him think, Crowley decided to pace around his office. After a while he took his jacket off and threw it into a corner of the room, as though wearing it was hindering his thought process in some way. He still just couldn't understand what went wrong. Had the swap even happened? His only certainty was that no harm had come to the Antichrist otherwise Crowley would have been personally dragged downstairs by Lucifer himself and been rigorously put through the Nine Circles of Hell.

_Nah, that wouldn’t be enough._

Crowley thought back to his reports on CIA and Spanish Inquisition torture practices. If, by some misfortune, the Antichrist had made his way back to his father, it would be one from column A, one from column B, repeat until squishy.

It was this thought that made Crowley sit back down. He lifted his legs onto the table in front at him and glanced over to his phone, practically begging it to ring. The angel will know what to do. Despite everything, Crowley still regarded himself as an optimist. Although he was struggling to hold on to that part of himself at the moment.

_Why won’t he ring?_

_Is everything ok?_

_Did the wanker brigade notice him leaving?_

_Was Aziraphale in trouble? Why won’t he call?_

_Fuck I sound like a teenager!_

“Easy job,” Crowley spat out loud, his frustration rising.

“Deliver the Antichrist. Keep an eye on him. Nice, straightforward job, eh? Not the kind of thing any demon is going to screw up, right?”

Crowley suddenly stood up to tend to his plants. The perfect way to unleash his anger. He hoped for a leaf spot, and he got his wish.

“… and you guys. GROW BETTER!”

________

That had been close.

Aziraphale stood in his back room, wringing his hands as relief slowly began to wash over him. It had thankfully been a short meeting, Gabriel never stayed long on his visits. Aziraphale could have done without Sandalphon being present at these exchanges, but he was inevitably by Gabriel’s side like a loyal guard dog. As much as Aziraphale had tried, he could never fully bring himself to love Sandalphon. He will never forget Sodom and Gomorrah. The elation that had been plastered across the Archangel's face while he had been smiting had haunted Aziraphale. Yes, the inhabitants of the cities had been rude, violent at times and inhospitable, but there really was no need to take such pleasure in their destruction. Aziraphale had often wondered if there had been any need for such destruction at all…

Aziraphale cleared his throat and pulled himself together. Now was not the time for questioning past events.

He moved out of the back room and over to his desk, where laid his copy of Northern Lights. He picked it up and smiled at it, remembering fondly the events of yesterday afternoon. He knew Crowley would like it even if the demon never confessed it out loud. After knowing someone for six thousand years, you pick up on the subtle little hints that they like something. Or someone…

Aziraphale quickly walked over to the other side of his shop to find a place to shelve the book. He deliberately never shelved books in the same location, a system would make it easier for customers to buy items from his precious collection. He spent as much time as he could on this task, desperate to not have to face the complicated array of emotions this one book was now making him feel.

_“Something smells evil.”_

These words still stung Aziraphale. Yes, Crowley is a demon, but he’d never once regarded him as “evil”. Wiley? Yes. Evil? Never. How could Sandalphon even smell that? In fact, how could he have smelled Crowley at all? Maybe it **_was_** the Jeffrey Archer books.

_Crowley knows what you smell like._

Aziraphale felt a little heat rise up his corporation at the memory. He may or may not have put on his new cologne while he’d been changing out of his cake-stained magician clothes. Why, he couldn't really say. His mind drifted towards what Crowley’s aroma actually was.

_Sulphur with a hint of brimstone, he is a demon after all. The leather seats from his Bentley. An earthy smell after rain... Petrichor! There's something else too… cumin? Some form of spice anyway. None of which is in any way evil!_

Forgetting himself for a moment, Aziraphale shoved the book into an open space a tad too aggressively, then immediately felt guilty and hastily picked it up again to check the binding. He returned it to the spot with the same care as if it were a holy relic and sighed.

“What did happen at that hospital?” he muttered to himself.

He'd had the chance to tell Gabriel that things were not exactly “ _going according to the divine plan_ ”. It was not the first time that Aziraphale had omitted certain truths in his reports, but the first time that he was feeling truly guilty for doing so. He had just been so distracted about Crowley leaving seconds before they arrived that he'd not had time to collect himself properly. Luckily, neither Archangel had seemed to notice, distracted by the divine plan and their “smooth” interaction with the humans regarding “pornography”. It was moments like these that made Aziraphale feel more than a little embarrassed to be associated with these angels. They truly had no idea about human etiquette and it made Aziraphale wonder if they actually cared for them at all. They must do! At least to a certain extent. Humanity were God’s creation and they had been charged to guide them towards the light. Although Gabriel had seemed somewhat too enthusiastic about the horsemen being summoned. Aziraphale had thought for a moment that he might be put in charge of summoning them but thankfully he’d been spared that responsibility.

_Should I have said something about the Antichrist?_

Well it was too late now. Anyway, it gave him time to sort out the mess Crowley had made.

_No that isn't fair. It is the nuns that were at fault. What a shambles._

Satanists truly were a bit of an embarrassment to Hell, Crowley had said so on many an occasion and Aziraphale quite agreed. Not that he felt embarrassment on behalf of Hell, more on behalf of humanity. He supposed, they were not all horrible people, some had never even **_seen_** a pentagram. Their enthusiasm was to be admired… in a way. It was a shame they couldn't be enthusiastic about simple organisation.

_I mean, two babies! Hardly taxing! Unless…_

_What if there had been another baby?!_

Aziraphale chastised himself for not coming to this conclusion sooner. Must have been all the whiskey he had consumed. It was the only possible explanation! The hospital would have records of the births that took place that night, which should lead them to the child!

_There’s always records, everyone keeps records!_

The angel, high on his accomplishment, walked straight over to his phone and was about to dial when he remembered; he had customers. Frustrated, he put the phone down, adjusted his bow tie and went to do what he did best. To make his customers as uncomfortable as possible so they would leave.

He began by using the classic move, hovering too close and invading personal space. It had the desired effect on a couple who promptly left. For his next trick, he miracled a damp, unpleasant smell. This did not work as well has he had hoped as the gentleman just moved across to the other side of the bookshop. Aziraphale stood behind his check out desk and put on his best scowl and unapproachable demeanour. He’d had years to perfect it. However, nobody paid him any notice today and continued browsing. Aziraphale was beginning to feel desperate and impatient. Time really was of the essence and he really did not want to have to resort to physical violence. It wasn’t in his nature. Then an idea came to him. A sure-fire way to clear out his shop. The pertinent word here being:

“FIRE!” Aziraphale cried. “Everyone out!” 

Many dropped their books in alarm as Aziraphale started herding them towards the exit, while he miracled the smell of smoke for good measure.

“It’s for your own safety and I really need to call the fire brigade. Quickly now!”

He slammed the door once the last person had vacated the premises, ignoring the frightened and bewildered questions being thrown at him. He locked the door and turned his sign over to CLOSED. Thank heaven he’d never had to deal with an actual fire in his bookshop before. He strode over to his telephone and dialled the number for the demon. 

____

Crowley placed the now empty plant pot in the middle of the room as a visual reminder for the other plants what could happen to them if they were anything less than perfect. He swaggered back into his office, feeling much more calm and in control. His phone began to ring but he decided to let the machine get it.

_Hey, this is Anthony Crowley. You know what to do. Do it with style._

Probably another PPI call. One of Hell’s inventions or Heaven’s? He made a mental note to ask Aziraphale.

**“No leads yet my end. Anything at your end?”**

_Speak of the devil, well, angel._

**“Listen, I have a sort of an idea.”**

Quick as a flash Crowley picked up the receiver.

“What?”

**“Ah, hello. When you did the baby swap eleven years ago, could something have gone wrong?”**

“Well, of course something went wrong! We wouldn’t be in this mess otherwise.”

**“Ok, well, have you considered this? Could there possibly have been another baby?”**

“ _What?!_ _”_

____

_Of course there had been another baby!_

Crowley gritted his teeth as he raced back to Aziraphale’s bookshop. Why hadn’t he thought of that sooner? Too busy drowning in self-pity. No more of that. They had a lead and right now that was enough for Crowley.

The angel was waiting for him outside the bookshop as Crowley skidded to a halt in front of it. Crowley couldn’t help but smile a little, it was a while since they had done a road trip and thank someone that he wasn’t going to spend the rest of the day in his flat on his own. As Aziraphale approached the Bentley, Crowley could make out that he was holding something. A tartan covered biscuit tin. Crowley raised his eyebrows as the angel sat down next to him and nodded at the tin.

“I brought a little something for the journey,” Aziraphale responded brightly. “In case we get peckish.”

“In case **_you_** get peckish you mean,” Crowley retorted as Aziraphale turned to place the tin on the backseat of the Bentley. The angel turned back and scowled in mild annoyance, but couldn’t help but match Crowley’s grin seconds later. They took a moment to share each other’s joy that they were back in each other’s company and not alone worrying about Armageddon. Then the atmosphere in the Bentley changed subtly, very similar to the one when they were alone last time. In the back room of the bookshop…

Aziraphale broke the spell by clearing his throat and asking:

“So, roughly how long will it take us to get to the hospital?”

“About two hours. But I can do it in one.”

Aziraphale was flung back in his seat as Crowley’s foot hit the accelerator. Unsurprising, the tin of shortbread was on the floor within seconds. What was surprising however was that the lid remained tightly shut so the contents hadn’t spilled everywhere. Crowley weaved in and out of traffic as Aziraphale attempted to regain his composure and went straight down to business.

“So… You’ve lost the boy.”

“ ** _We’ve_** lost.”

“A child has been lost. But, you still know his age-"

“ ** _We_** know.”

“-his birthday. He’s eleven.”

“You make it sound easy.”

“Well, it can’t be that hard. I just hope nothing’s happened to him.”

“Happened? Nothing’s happened to him! He happens to everything.”

“So, we only have to find his birth records. Go through the hospital files.”

“And then what?”

“And then we find the child.”

“And then what?!”

Ah. The angel hadn’t actually thought that far. He supposed they either… well… eliminated him. Or... Aziraphale was duty bound to alert Heaven. Neither were preferable. So to distract Crowley from the awkward question Aziraphale yelled:

“ ** _Watch out for that pedestrian!_** ”

In the angel’s defence, there was every need to say that as the demon’s eyes hadn’t been fixed on the road at that particular moment.

“She’s on the street. She knows the risk she’s taking.”

“Just watch the road. Watch the road!”

Crowley silently mocked him, but thought it better to do as he was told. If the flapping of the angel’s hands were anything to go by, he was feeling particularly agitated. He didn’t change his speed though. He had some pride.

“Where is this hospital anyway?” Aziraphale continued.

“A village near Oxford, Tadfield.”

“Crowley, you can’t do ninety miles per hour in Central London!”

“Why not?” Crowley retorted lifting both hands off the wheel, indicating he was perfectly in control. Also to slightly show off.

“You’ll get us killed! Well, inconveniently discorporated,” Aziraphale corrected himself, surrendering to the inevitable speed this journey was going to go at. 

“Music!” Aziraphale exclaimed rummaging in the glove apartment. Anything to potentially calm him down. “Why don’t I put on a little… music? What’s a Velvet Underground?”

“You wouldn’t like it.”

“Oh. Bebop.”

Crowley took a deep breath and drove faster.

What were they going to do once they found him? Crowley had been completely focused on knowing what had happened he hadn’t actually thought about what to do after.

“I don’t suppose… your lot would consider giving me asylum? You know, before all the fighting starts and all?”

“Funnily enough, I was going to ask you the same thing,” Aziraphale replied gloomily, continuing his rifling through Crowley’s CD collection. “Aha! This is more like it. Tchaikovsky!”

“Doubt it,” Crowley muttered as Aziraphale inserted the disk into the player, removing Haydn’s string quartets.

“I… I don’t believe I know this one,” said Aziraphale as the bass rift began to play. “What is it?”

“It’s Tchaikovsky’s ‘Another One Bites The Dust’” replied Crowley suppressing a laugh at the bewildered look on Aziraphale’s face.

They continued their journey in silence for a time while The Best of Queen blasted through the Bentley. Aziraphale mainly looked out of the window while absentmindedly tapping along with the beat on his thighs. Normally Crowley would have commented on this but instead he decided to concentrate on where they were going. His mind kept on drifting to the last time they were together and was beginning to get paranoid that Aziraphale might ask him to finish what he was going to say before the fun police had turned up. What had he been thinking?! What was he even going to say?

_So… angel. You know how we’ve known each other for six thousand years and supposed to be on opposite sides and all? Well I’m really glad that I met you on that wall and that you became my best friend through all the stupid and wonderful things humanity has thrown at us. Just wanted to let you know that you’re great… and you make me really happy… and … I think, no, I know there’s something else there between us. So what do you say angel? Shall we stop dancing around the subject and actually say and do something about this?_

_“You go too fast for me Crowley.”_

“Crowley! Slow down!”

“What?” Crowley replied coming out of his reverie with a jerk.

“Even by your ridiculous standards this is too fast!” Aziraphale cried holding onto the top of his seat so tightly that his knuckles had turned white.

Crowley looked at his speedometer. A hundred and twenty miles per hour. Guiltily he released his foot off the accelerator until the car slowed down to a painstakingly slow speed of seventy miles per hour. Aziraphale attentively released his grip.

“Thank you!” he said more than a little exasperated.

“You’re welcome,” Crowley replied with a mocking cheerfulness.

“What were you thinking about anyway?” Aziraphale reached forward to turn off the music and turned slightly to study the demon. “You were miles away.”

“ ‘s nothing.”

“Are you sure?”

Aziraphale pondered for a moment. Then made up his mind. He was going to ask.

“Crowley… do you want to finish what you were going to say-"

“Where are we anyway?” Crowley quickly interrupted.

“Wait… you mean you don’t know where we’re going?”

“It has been eleven years since I’ve been here! And I do know! Sort of…”

“I can’t believe we’re lost.”

“Well, you were supposed to be looking out for signposts.”

“How on earth was I supposed to read them with you driving like a madman?”

“I thought you said you were a speed reader.”

“Do you need a map?”

“No.”

“Do you even have one in here?”

“Angel I don’t need a map!”

“Here we go! Let’s have a look.”

Crowley growled in frustration as Aziraphale pulled out a map from under his seat.

“There’s no need to be like that. There’s no shame in admitting you’re lost.”

“ ** _We’re_** lost. Oh, just hurry up and find out if we’re in the right area.”

Aziraphale studied the map and directed the demon to the right path. Literally in this case, not metaphorically. After a couple of dangerous U-turns and some minor miracles to remove a few lamp posts out of harms way, they finally seemed to be heading in the right direction.

“This is the Tadfield area. Does it look familiar yet?”

“You know, it does,” Crowley replied glancing around. “I think there’s an air base around here somewhere.”

“Air base?”

“Well, you don’t think American diplomats’ wives usually give birth in little religious hospitals in the middle of nowhere do you? No, it had to seem to happen naturally, so there’s an air base at Lower Tadfield. Things started to happen, base hospital isn’t ready. ‘Oh’, our man there said. There’s a birthing hospital just down the road. And there we were. Rather good organisation.”

“Flawless,” Aziraphale remarked sarcastically.

“It should have worked.” Crowley rarely felt the need to defend Hell, but this hadn’t been a **_bad_** plan. Well, it was **_bad._** Hellish considering who came up with it. It had been a well thought out plan that just so happened to have not worked.

“Ah, but evil always contains the seeds of its own destruction.”

Aziraphale could feel a speech coming on and was already feeling on a roll.

“No matter how well-planned, how fool proof an evil plan, no matter how apparently successful it may seem upon the way, in the end it will founder on the rocks of iniquity and vanish.”

“For my money it was just an ordinary cock-up.”

Aziraphale gave Crowley a side-eyed glance of annoyance, but relented. He removed the map from his lap and was struck suddenly by an overwhelming feeling. At first he wasn’t sure where it had come from and his first instinct was to look towards Crowley. The angel often caught strong emotions emanating from the demon, but this time it wasn’t from him. It was from the surrounding area. It felt… cherished.

“This is it!” Crowley cried triumphantly as he pulled up to Tadfield Manor. He frowned. It didn’t look quite how he remembered it. Then again it was a long time ago and it had been dark. Not that that made much of a difference to him. As a demon he had no problem seeing in the dark. Both angel and demon got out of the car and made their way to the entrance. Aziraphale followed the path while Crowley took the direct route and walked over the grass. It was the little things that made his demonic nature happy. Aziraphale, still slightly flustered by the overwhelming atmosphere he was experiencing, looked around him and asked:

“Um, are you sure this is the right place? This… this doesn’t look like a hospital. And…”

He flung out his arm to stop Crowley in his tracks as he fully understood what he was experiencing. He collected himself with a chuckle before continuing.

“It feels loved.”

The angel stood with his hand over his chest while he basked in the glow of it while the demon looked around him confused and slightly nervously. He forgot sometimes that angels could pick up on these things.

“No it’s definitely the place. What do you mean ‘loved’?”

“Well, I mean the opposite of when you say, ‘I don’t like this place. It feels spooky.’”

“I don’t ever say that. I like spooky. Big spooky fan, me. Let’s go talk to some nuns.”

As they walked on they both noticed the strangeness of their surroundings. Traffic cones with moss green nets and what looked like part of an airplane. It had an air of military about the place. Before either could voice their thoughts however there were two muffled bangs and both the angel and demon had been shot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big shout out to [ BlueMoon0nTheRise](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueMoon0nTheRise/pseuds/BlueMoon0nTheRise) for being my editor. This fic would be terrible without her help ❤
> 
> Comments are always welcome, I love to know what you guys think.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So we're continuing with episode 2 in this chapter. I'm concentrating primarily on "shipable" moments here, with some "missing scenes" thrown in for good measure. Having a lot of fun writing this!

Chapter 3- Episode: The Book (Continued)

No, no, NO! Not now! This was not the time to be discorporated! Getting a new body would take time and anyway, the last place he wanted to be right now was back in Hell. Crowley doubted he would ever be allowed back on earth again, not that there would be any earth left by the time Armageddon was finished. Crowley’s chest stung with the force of the bullet but he didn’t seem to be “dying”.

He gave a quick glance at Aziraphale, who was examining his shoulder. The angel looked more annoyed than in imminent danger so Crowley returned to assessing his own situation.

Aziraphale pulled his hand away from his supposed wound and was confused by the colour that had stained it.

“Blue?” The angel questioned out loud. It had been a long time since he’d last bled, but he knew fully well that his blood wasn’t blue.

“Oh its paint,” Crowley realised, toying with the red substance between his fingers.

They both looked at each other with their hands outstretched. They shared each other’s confusion and the relief that they were both ok. 

“Hey!” a voice yelled at them. “You’ve both been hit!”

They turned to look at the source of the noise and saw a human, carrying his weapon and dressed head to toe in camouflage, apart from the shirt and tie they could see sticking out of the top. He’d lifted the visor on his helmet so he could chastise them and wore an expression of irritation that both angel and demon had seen before from their superiors. The human screamed ‘office manager’. The man scoffed and continued in his telling off:

“I don’t know what you think you’re playing at right-”

He never got to finish his sentence as Crowley couldn’t resist transforming momentarily into his demon form to scare the poor bugger. And scare him he most certainly did. The man gave a yelp of alarm, whimpered pathetically, then keeled over in a dead faint. Crowley felt a swell of pride at his work. It had been too long since he’d pulled a stunt like that. If only it could work on Hastur.

“Well, that was fun!”

“Well yes, fun for you. Look at the state of this coat! I’ve kept this in tip-top condition for over one hundred and eighty years now. I’ll never get this stain out.”

Slightly hurt that the angel wasn’t sharing his mirth, or that he’d even noticed that Crowley had saved them both a scolding, Crowley dutifully circled Aziraphale to inspect the damage. 

“You could miracle it away,” Crowley remarked, not unkindly. He knew how much these clothes meant to Aziraphale.

“Hmm… Yes, but… well, I would always know the stain was there. Underneath, I mean.”

Not for the first time, Aziraphale gave Crowley a look that, if Crowley wasn’t a suave and abhorrent demon, he would describe as _adorable_. He teasingly pouted at the angel but as he looked into those puppy dog eyes, he knew he was going to do what the angel was silently asking him to do. He gently blew over Aziraphale’s shoulder and the stain vanished. He never could resist that expression, or the look of gratitude that was now forming on Aziraphale’s face. He wondered if Aziraphale realised that fact about him as well…

“Oh, thank you!” Aziraphale beamed. Then, for the second time that day, he felt heat rise up his corporation and settle in his cheeks. He knew Crowley liked to play the dashing hero, which Aziraphale allowed him to do from time to time. He certainly was looking dashing at this moment, smiling warmly at him. Aziraphale felt an extra bit of love in the air that wasn’t coming from the surrounding area this time. As if the atmosphere wasn’t overwhelming enough already! Flustered, Aziraphale attempted to look away, then walked over to the discarded weapon to distract himself from all the emotions whirling around him.

“Impressive hardware,” Aziraphale commented, picking it up. “I’ve looked at this gun,” he said turning to show Crowley. “It’s not a proper one at all. It just shoots paintballs.”

“Don’t your lot disapprove of guns?” Crowley asked. Still feeling jubilant from his demonic trick and from making Aziraphale beam at him like that, he pointed it playfully at the angel.

“Unless they’re in the right hands,” Aziraphale responded, as he purposely moved the gun away from him. “Then they give weight to a moral argument.”

_Drat._

“I think,” he finished lamely.

He could see Crowley was amused by what he was saying and was planning on using it against him at some point in future conversations.

“A moral argument? Really?” Crowley threw the gun to the side and grinning widely said “Come on.”

Aziraphale followed Crowley into the building and took in his surroundings. This certainly didn’t look like a birthing hospital. It looked far too modern and Aziraphale spotted a sign saying:

TADFIELD MANOR CONFERENCE AND MANAGEMENT TRAINING CENTRE: A PLACE TO INTEGRATE AND EXPAND.

Well that all but confirmed it then. They were in the wrong place.

He pointed this out to Crowley who shook his head slightly and stated: “This is definitely the place.”

Crowley paused for a minute then picked up a leaflet while musing out loud, “Wonder where the nuns went?”

As they continued walking down the corridor, Aziraphale inspected Crowley out of the corner of his eye, while trying not to be too obvious about what he was doing. He’d expected the demon to be more wound up than he was. They should have surely seen at least one nun by now. He heard footsteps hurrying down the corridor towards them and focused instead on that, hoping that it was a nun who was late to evening prayers. Unsurprisingly it wasn’t, just another human in army gear.

“Millie from Accounts caught me in the elbow!” she said to them. “Who’s winning?”

“You’re all going to lose,” Crowley replied, clicking his fingers with both hands at her. He’d tried to be a subtle as he could about what he was doing, but the angel spotted the demonic intervention immediately. The paintball gun sounds had suddenly changed to machine gunfire.

“What… what the hell did you just do?” Aziraphale asked, pointing accusingly at Crowley’s hands.

“Well, they wanted real guns, so I gave them what they wanted.”

Crowley was practically giggling on the inside. It was true, he had sensed what the humans actually desired to be doing. He couldn’t blame them. If _he’d_ had to do management training with his demonic colleagues he’d want a real gun too. Besides, if this place did turn out to be a dead end, at least this wouldn’t have been a completely wasted trip. No harm in a little fun before the end of days. Aziraphale however was not amused, Crowley could hear him dithering behind him.

“There are people out there shooting at each other!” Aziraphale stated anxiously.

Crowley could come clean here. Reveal his true intentions as to why he’d played this trick. On the other hand, it was always entertaining to wind Aziraphale up a bit.

“Well, it lends weight to their moral argument.” He attempted to keep a straight face as he kicked a door open to see what was inside. “Everyone has free will, including the right to murder. Just think of it as a microcosm of the universe.”

Aziraphale slowed his pace and stared at Crowley dumbfounded as the demon continued moving ahead of him. Had Crowley finally snapped? Despite him being a demon, Aziraphale had never seen him put humans in peril like this before. He mainly inconvenienced them. It wasn’t like him to be so blasé about humans hurting each other. Especially as they had both been present at both world wars…

_Wiley? Yes. Evil? Never._

“They’re murdering each other?” Aziraphale asked, clearly upset by the prospect.

Crowley turned to face him and they both came to a standstill. Crowley took one look at the expression on Aziraphale’s face and with a sigh, relented.

“No they aren’t. No one’s killing anyone. They’re all having miraculous escapes. It wouldn’t be any fun otherwise.” 

Of course he wasn’t going to let them kill each other! It wasn’t in his nature, which was odd, considering what he was.

Aziraphale visibly relaxed and was so relieved by this confession he momentarily forgot who he was talking to.

“You know Crowley,” Aziraphale began as he walked closer to him. “I’ve always said that deep down, you really are quite a nice-”

The angel however never got to finish his sentence, as Crowley did in fact finally snap. 

**_Nice._**

The control over his demeanour suddenly faltered and without a thought he grabbed Aziraphale and pushed him against a wall. The insecurities of his recent failures had got the better of him. The loss of the Antichrist, impending doom, how he was sure they were in the right place except for the fact there wasn’t a single bloody nun to be seen, his inability to keep his feelings in check for a certain angel who he was now pressing into the body of and the cherry on top of the Hell Hound shit pile was that he was too _nice_ to be a proper demon.

He was a failure.

“Ssshut it!” he hissed into Aziraphale’s face. “I’m a demon. I’m not nice.”

Aziraphale meanwhile, while of course shocked by Crowley’s reaction, wasn’t feeling particularly frightened by the demon invading his personal space. On the contrary, this close he was able to confirm he’d been right about Crowley’s aroma. It was also… well nice to have the demon pressed up against him in this way. The atmosphere felt charged, helped along by the already present love of the area. This close it truly was… intoxicating.

“I’m never nice. Nice is a four letter word.”

Aziraphale wasn’t really listening to the demon, too focused on how their noses were almost touching and how close their mouths were too. His gaze drifted downwards and he had a sudden burning desire to close the gap.

“I will not have-”

“Excuse me gentlemen?”

Crowley turned to see who had interrupted him and Aziraphale followed suit a second after.

“Sorry to break up an intimate moment. Can I help you?”

This was the first human they’d seen that was not wearing army gear. She was dressed smartly, her high heel shoes tapping on the ground as she headed towards them. Aziraphale should have been embarrassed to have been caught in such an undignified situation. However, there was a small part of him that wished she’d walked down a different corridor. He waited to be released by the demon, but Crowley continued to stare at the human who was in turn staring at him.

“You,” Crowley murmured.

She was no longer wearing a wimple, and had more make up on than when they’d last met. It was definitely her though. The nun who had been away with the fairies. 

“Saints and demons preserve us, it’s Master Crowley!” gasped the ex-nun as she began to back away.

Crowley finally let go of Aziraphale and quickly snapped his fingers. The human stood still as a statue with a placid expression on her face.

“You didn’t have to do that!” Aziraphale reprimanded. “You could have just asked her.”

He started to sort out his attire as he began to pull himself together, trying his best to forget how he’d been feeling merely seconds ago.

Crowley looked at the angel in disbelief.

“Oh, of course, of course. No. Yeah. ‘Excuse me ma’am, we’re two supernatural entities just looking for the notorious Son of Satan. Wonder if you might help us with our enquires?!’ “

_________

What were they going to do now? Trust Hastur to burn their potential lead. Crowley drove away from the Manor and very quickly picked up speed while his brain went over recent events furiously. The angel had come up with the last plan, now it was his turn again.

Queen began playing from the CD player despite neither of the occupants turning it on. Crowley shot a glance at the player in confusion but decided to leave it be. It was preferable to the awkward silence that had been forming. Aziraphale, clutching on for dear life, broke the silence.

“Is there some other way of locating him?”

“How the heaven should I know?” Crowley exclaimed “Armageddon only happens once you know. You don’t get to go round again until you get it right.”

He swerved out the way just in time as another car, inconsiderately in his way, appeared around a tight bend. Aziraphale’s grip tightened.

“But I know one thing,” Crowley continued unfazed by the car honking his horn at him. “If we don’t find him, it won’t be the war to end all wars. It’ll be the war to end everything.”

Crowley couldn’t think of a single next step to take. Either they kept trying and inevitably failing to find the Antichrist, or they just focused on and savoured what little time they had left instead.

_Maybe we could just leave._

What did the humans call this feeling? Fight or flight? Crowley was getting tired of fighting. Not that he really was much of a fighter. If Hastur or Ligur ever managed to corner him, he wouldn’t really stand much of a chance. Better to run away really.

Would Aziraphale join him though?

Well, maybe not after his recent actions. Crowley felt his face flush with the shame of how he’d just treated the angel. He hadn’t meant to be quite so physical. Should he apologise? Or just ignore it?

_Those are the days of our lives_ _  
The bad things in life were so few  
Those days are all gone now but one thing is true  
When I look and I find I still love you_

Aziraphale meanwhile was watching the sun set as it cast a gorgeous orange glow over the area. God’s beautiful creation. She couldn’t possibly want these events to go ahead, could she? He sighed softly and spared a glance at the demon sitting next to him. He felt a surge of love in the air and quickly looked back out of the window. He’d always know there was… affection between them, but the atmosphere was truly making it hard for him to focus on the problem in hand when he could feel it so strongly. Why was the feeling so powerful in this particular area though? He supposed people just liked living here and that’s what he was picking up on. But then again, he’d never felt anything like this while in London. Well, he supposed that wasn’t exactly surprising. He’d just have to keep his thoughts and feelings in check until they were back in London. It was at this moment that a different song began to sound throughout the Bentley.

_Can anybody,_

_find meeeeeee._

_Somebody to, love?_

Before the song could continue further, Crowley’s hand shot out at inhuman speed and turned the music off. Aziraphale turned and tried to study Crowley’s face. However, by now the sun had fully set, which made it impossible for Aziraphale to see the demon’s features properly. He didn’t have Crowley’s ability to see clearly in the dark.

_“Sorry to break up an intimate moment.”_

_It was rather intimate wasn’t it. I mean, I almost…_

The angel’s resolve diminished and he decided to pull at the thread, just a little.

“There’s a very peculiar feeling to this whole area. I’m astonished you can’t feel it.”

“I don’t feel anything out of the ordinary,” Crowley replied putting his barriers up mentally.

“But it’s everywhere. All over here,” Aziraphale continued to prod.

“You’re just over-sensitive.”

“I’m not over-sensitive! Angels can’t be over-sensitive, it’s our job!”

Crowley just shrugged, and deliberately kept his eyes on the road.

_I wish he would stop talking about all the bloody love he can feel!_

Aziraphale however was determined to see this conversation through.

“Love,” he said pointedly. “Flashes of love.”

“You’re being ridiculous.”

“I am not!”

“The last thing we need right now is-"

It was at that moment that a woman riding a bicycle crashed into the bonnet of the Bentley with a scream. Crowley stopped the Bentley as he and Aziraphale stared ahead in shock.

“You hit someone.”

“I didn’t. Somebody hit me.” 

______________

After returning the woman safely to her cottage and giving her bike a heavenly makeover, which was soon reversed, Aziraphale suggested that they stopped for a bite of something.

“I’m not really hungry,” Crowley complained

“You never are. We should still stop, give you break from all the driving and from well, everything that’s happened. It’s been rather an eventful day.”

Crowley could have argued that he didn’t need a break as he wasn’t human, but he didn’t.

So there they were, Aziraphale with his cup of tea and slice of cake and Crowley, after Aziraphale’s insistence, with a cup of black coffee sitting in a small motorway café.

Crowley stared at the table between them deep in thought. They wouldn’t be able to use any demonic or angelic powers to find the Antichrist so… there was no other alternative. They were going to have to run away. Where to though? The Moon? Jupiter? All of this planning was irrelevant anyway until he actually shared this idea with Azirapahle. He was struggling however to find the right way to broach the topic.

“Mmh. You know, we might get another human to find him,” said Aziraphale as he dabbed his mouth with a napkin. The cake was actually rather scrummy, considering where they were.

It took Crowley a moment to realise Aziraphale had addressed him. He slowly lifted his head from the table and refocused.

“What?”

“Humans are good at finding other humans. They’ve been doing it for thousands of years. And the child is partly human. Other humans might be able to sense him.”

“He’s the Antichrist. He’s got an automatic defence thingy. Suspicion slides off him like… I dunno, whatever it is water slides off.”

“Got any better ideas? Or one single better idea?” 

Crowley glared at him while Aziraphale dabbed at his mouth again innocently.

“Is that a dig at me not coming up with an idea even though it’s my turn?”

“I’m not keeping score.”

“Of course not.”

Crowley couldn’t help but smirk, just a little. Encouraged by this, Aziraphale continued with the banter.

“You could turn your attention to writing our song.”

“Our… our what?”

“Song. About how an angel and a demon worked together to stop the Apocalypse.”

Crowley chuckled softly.

“I thought we were leaving that up to the humans?”

“They’ll be too busy looking for the Antichrist.”

Crowley laughed again and leaned back in his chair, considerably more relaxed than he had been moments ago. Aziraphale felt a swell of pride that he’d managed to get Crowley to smile again. He hadn’t done so since back at the Manor. He placed his fork and napkin on his now empty plate and turned his attention to his tea.

“How are you going to contribute to the song then? I’m not doing all the work.” Crowley shot back at him.

“Well, I suppose I could write the melody.”

“You got much experience in that field?”

“I have as a matter of fact. We’ve both known a few composers over the years.” 

“That’s true. Paganini was always a laugh.”

“A brilliant violinist.”

“Who threw brilliant parties.”

“Did I ever tell you I had a hand in Mozart’s upbringing?”

“Every chance you got. But did you ever have a hand in any of his compositions?”

“Can’t say I did.”

“I did.”

“Don’t be absurd.”

“I did! His Requiem.”

Aziraphale lowered his cup astonished.

“Well I never knew that!”

“Well, I don’t like to brag, me.”

Aziraphale narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

“Are you lying?”

“No! Come on then, what pieces did you help shape, along with young prodigy’s minds.”

“Well, I did help a bit with Pomp and Circumstance.”

“That does not surprise me.”

“And Shostakovich actually. His Piano Concerto No 2 in F major-“

“Which movement?”

Aziraphale blinked in surprise.

“Um, the second one. Andante.”

Crowley was looking at him in amazement.

“That git told me I was the only influence he had on that piece!”

“You mean… you also?”

“Yep.”

“Well I never.”

They both smiled widely at each other over this new information. Somehow, after six thousand years, there were still things to learn about the other.

“It is a beautiful piece of music,” Aziraphale said wistfully, not breaking their eye contact.

“I’ve always thought so, yes,” Crowley replied carefully.

Aziraphale felt yet another flush creep across his face. **_What was wrong with him today?_** He looked away quickly to pick his cup back up.

“Aren’t you going to drink your coffee?”

Crowley sighed and downed the contents despite the heat of the beverage. He then stood up, his moody demeanour back and said:

“Let’s go.”

Aziraphale watched him out of the café, then turned back and sighed himself. He hadn’t finished his tea, but he found that it had lost its appeal. He left a tip on the table and got up to follow the demon back to the Bentley. 

______

They had sat in silence for a good twenty minutes now and Aziraphale couldn’t bear it. He detested seeing Crowley in such a low mood, and was unsure of how to make him feel better. He had tried light conversation and that had somehow ended badly. If only he could read Crowley’s mind! It would be entirely inappropriate of course and a violation of privacy, but it would be really helpful for the angel right now. He decided to bring everything back to business. He was rather enjoying having the upper hand in the ideas department, despite himself. 

“Look, there’s something I should tell you.”

Crowley tensed. Hardly daring to believe what he thought was happening. Was now the time they were going to discuss their… _feelings_ for one another?

_Ugh. There must be better way to phrase it than that!_

He glanced at the angel, encouraging him to continue.

“I have a… network of highly trained human agents spread across the country.”

_Nope. We’re back to talking about Armageddon._

“Now, I could set them searching for the boy.”

“You do? I actually- I actually have something similar. Human operatives.”

“Gosh, do you think they ought to work together?”

“I don’t think that’s a very good idea. My lot are not very sophisticated, politically speaking.”

“No, no, neither are mine. So we tell our respective operatives to look for the boy? Unless you have a better idea?”

Crowley thought for a minute, then without warning yelled out:

“DUCKS!”

“What about ducks?” Aziraphale asked flabbergasted.

“They’re what water slides off!”

_Oh, so that was what he was thinking about for the last twenty minutes!_

“Just drive the car please!” Aziraphale replied, exasperated at his wasted worrying.

Soon after, they were pulling up to the book shop and Crowley still hadn’t worked up the courage to suggest they should get away. Well, they had another plan now, so maybe he should keep it on the back burner for the time being. Although, he wasn’t holding much hope for this plan to actually work, but you never know. The hope Crowley was actually concentrating on at the moment was an invite into the bookshop, to delay the journey back to his empty and lonely flat. He got out of the car and addressed something that had also been bothering him and he knew exactly how to phrase this one.

“You know,” he began, addressing Aziraphale on the other side of the car. “If you lined up everyone in the whole world and asked them to describe The Velvet Underground, nobody, **_at all_** , would say ‘bebop’.”

Aziraphale only glared at him and groaned softly. Maybe that slice of cake had been a mistake. Not a good combination with the demon’s driving speed. He opened the back door of the Bentley to retrieve his neglected biscuit tin and spotted something else.

“Oh, there’s a book back there.”

“Well it’s not mine. I don’t read books.”

“It has to belong to the young lady you hit with your car.”

“I’m in enough trouble as it is. I’m not going to start returning lost property. That’s what your lot do. Why don’t you just send it to the Tadfield post office, addressed to ‘the mad American woman with the bicycle’?”

Aziraphale however was completely distracted by the book in his hands. All his concentration was fixated on its title.

THE NICE AND ACCURATE PROPHECIES by AGNES NUTTER

He could scarcely believe it. He’d found the Holy Grail of prophetic works, in the back of a demon’s vintage car no less. Slightly too late he realised Crowley had stopped talking and tore his gaze away from the book and tried to act normally.

“Oh, uh… jolly good, yes. Rather.” 

Crowley was baffled by the angel’s sudden change in demeanour.

“Right. So we’ll both contact our respective human operatives then?”

“Sorry?” Aziraphale replied already turning and heading towards his shop.

“Are you alright?” Crowley called after him.

“Perfectly, yes. Uh, tip top. Absolutely tickety-boo,” Aziraphale called back, his hand on the door knob.

“Tickety- boo?”

“Mind how you go.” Aziraphale closed the door behind him, dashing all the demon’s hopes of an invite in in the process.

“Right,” Crowley mumbled, swallowing his disappointment. “Well that was a thing.”

He all at once felt very alone.

_____________

Crowley tried for hours to sleep. He tossed and turned, tore the blanket off him and put it back on again. Giving up on the bed he tried the wall, then the ceiling. Nothing worked. Blessing in frustration, he fell face down back onto the bed and growled into his silk sheets. All the events of the day were on repeat in his head. Ruminating mainly on how he’d pushed his best friend into a wall and how that best friend had practically fled from him when he’d dropped him off. What had he been thinking? He hadn’t, that was the point. He’d practically hissed at him in his anger. It had been a while since he’d lost control over his snake counterpart like that. Maybe he could transform into his true form now, that might help him sleep and help him feel less… well just not _feel_ anything.

He’d never felt any regret for his actions way back in the garden. The humans had free will thanks to him, they had choices. That’s what being human was all about really. Choices. If Crowley had only known in that moment it might have meant him giving up his own free will.

He flung himself back onto his feet and stalked out of his bedroom. He passed a gothic mirror in his hallway and took in his reflection. His hair was ruffled, sticking out in all directions, just like his limbs whenever he walked. His complexion looked sickly and pale. Maybe he should go for a walk. Get some fresh air or something. He fixed his hair while trying not to look into his yellow reptilian eyes. Yellow often signified danger. It’s why warning signs used yellow and black as their colour scheme, just like wasps and bees. The same colour as his eyes. A signal to stay away, keep your distance. Is that what Aziraphale had decided to do? Keep his distance?

Suddenly the glass in the mirror cracked and Crowley stepped back in surprise. He hadn’t meant to do that.

“Seven years’ bad luck,” he muttered. “Lucky me though, I’ve only got one and half days left.” 

He looked away and headed to where he’d flung his jacket earlier before he’d checked on his plants. He glanced at his statue that was supposed to represent evil triumphant over good. It depicted two angelic creatures wrestling with one pinning the other to the ground. He’d never really noticed before how the bottom angel looked a little like Aziraphale. Probably just because he had the angel on his mind. He moved along quickly and stopped dead in his tracks in the middle of the plant room. He suddenly felt a swell of anger and kicked the empty plant pot he’d left there earlier across the room. The plants around him began to tremble. Why couldn’t he stop thinking about the angel?!

He clenched his fists and strode over to his jacket spread over the back of his throne and shoved it on. He looked over at his phone and realised what was wrong with him. He was worried about Aziraphale. Why had he left like that?

Crowley sat on the edge of his desk, picked up the receiver and began to dial.

“Any news?” he asked as soon as Aziraphale picked up on the other end. “Found the missing Antichrist yet?”

“No. No news. Nothing. Nothing at all. If I had anything, I would tell you, obviously. Immediately. We’re friends! Why would you even ask?”

The angel’s answer was said in such quick succession it was practically done in one breath. 

“Oh, there’s no news here either. Call me if you find anything.”

“Absolutely. Why would you think I wouldn’t?”

The call ended abruptly, and Crowley looked at his receiver in annoyance. That call had done nothing to settle his nerves. He put the phone down, sighed and looked out of the window. Sunlight was streaming in. A new day. One day to go. Crowley stood up and put his jacket back on the chair. He wasn’t really in the mood for a walk. The demon lifted his head up and closed his eyes as though he was absorbing the sunlight on his face. He began to slowly shrink as scales appeared instead of the clothes on his body and his bones faded away. He flicked his now snake tongue out to taste the air and slithered away, back to his bedroom, to curl up and hide away in his silk sheets.

_____

Meanwhile, Aziraphale had worked through the night studying Agnus’s prophecies with awe and joy. Through his hard work he had stumbled upon an important clue, which lead him to ringing the home of the Antichrist. He had found him!

“Sorry! Right number!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am also a classical musician so writing that dialogue was particularly fun for me! 
> 
> I'm still on the hell site that is tumblr, so if any of you are also still on it and fancy a chat about this fic, or anything to do with with Good Omens, I'm always up for that :) 
> 
> My URL is: so-much-fandom-mess
> 
> As always, comments are super appreciated!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did not plan on splitting this episode into two parts, but then I had an idea for some missing scenes that took up more words than I realised! So have a chapter that barely has any of the show in it. Hope you like!

Chapter 4- Episode 3: Hard Times

Aziraphale leaned back in his chair, his hands gripping the sides in agitation as he stared at his antique telephone in shock and horror. He could scarcely believe what he’d just done. Not twenty-four hours ago he and Crowley hadn’t the foggiest of where the Antichrist could be, now the angel had a name and address.

_Crowley._

He leant forward and dialled the number for the demon, flushed with his excitement to tell him everything. This will cheer the demon up, spur him into action and save him from the wrath of Hell. However, on the second dial tone, Aziraphale suddenly slammed the phone back down, ending the call.

_He needed to tell Heaven._

It was what he should have done before. This was too big. This was not a white lie in a report about who actually performed this miracle or that demonic intervention. The end of the world hung in the balance. This was bigger than them. It was the right thing to do.

_Oh, but he **wanted** to tell Crowley!_

A loud knock on his door interrupted the angel’s dithering. He glared in the direction of the noise. He didn’t care what time it was; he wasn’t opening his shop today. Somebody knocked again, more insistently.

“We’re closed!” Aziraphale shouted across the bookshop.

This was ignored. There came another knock, far more violently than the last two.

“Oh, for goodness sake!” Aziraphale muttered, standing up and pocketing his unnecessary reading glasses. He stormed across the shop and pulled up the blind on his front door to see who was making such a racket. Two young men stood on the threshold. Their hair was slicked back stylishly and they were both wearing black leather jackets with white shirts underneath. Their shirts were tucked into their denim jeans and they wore rather expensive trainers on their feet. They were most certainly brothers, despite one, the elder, having black hair and the younger having blonde hair. Both brothers were smirking at Aziraphale in a rude and infuriating way. Aziraphale angrily pointed to the CLOSED sign between them, but the blonde one simply shook his head, still smirking, while the other opened and closed the letter box repeatedly. With a frustrated sigh Aziraphale unlocked the door and opened it wide enough to allow his head and part of his body access, but no more, so as to not encourage them to enter.

“Can you not read? If you cannot, I’m afraid you have come to the wrong shop.”

“Nah we can read,” replied the elder of the two in a thick cockney accent. “We just don’t care if you’re open or not.”

“Yeah books ain’t really our thing,” the other chimed in.

“Then may I suggest you go elsewhere then,” Aziraphale huffed as he began to close the door on them. The older brother, however, immediately shoved himself against the door and Aziraphale stepped back in surprise as the brothers barged into the bookshop.

“ ’ow nice of you to let us in.” The older one sniggered as the younger closed the door behind them. 

“I didn’t! Please could you leave? I’m frightfully busy at the moment and have no time for idle chit chat.”

“You’ve got a nice place ‘ere Mr Fell,” the older brother commented looking around. “Shame books ain’t our thing really,” he continued, picking up a book at random and flicking through the pages.

“Yeah, shame if something were to ‘appen to it like.” said the younger brother, leaning over and scanning the books on the shelf nearest to him.

“Look, I’m really not… wait what do you mean?”

“Didn’ you have a fire ‘ere yesterday?” asked the older brother, not looking at Aziraphale and instead scanning the back of the book he was holding.

“A fire? Oh! No, no it was a false alarm. Luckily. I… I think someone left toast in their toaster for too long next door-”

“You got be careful with all this paper around ain’t ya?” The older brother chucked the book onto the floor.

“Well, quite.” Aziraphale frowned at the way his book had been treated.

“Yeah, be a shame if you actually did ‘ave a fire,” said the younger brother straightening up and taking out a cigarette from his jacket pocket. He tried to light it, but for some reason the lighter wouldn’t work, no matter how many times he tried.

“Must ‘ave run outta juice.”

“I would really rather you didn’t smoke in here thank you,” said Aziraphale icily. “It is against the law you know.”

“I don’t see a sign up anywhere.”

Aziraphale pointed to a large sign that had miraculously appeared on the front of his check out desk.

Accompanied by the standard picture of a lit cigarette surrounded by a red circle with a line through it, the sign read:

ABSOLUTLEY NO SMOKING IN THESE PREMISES. IT IS QUITE AGAINST THE LAW YOU UNDERSTAND.

The younger brother simply shrugged and tucked the cigarette behind his ear.

“Look, what exactly is it that you both want?” Aziraphale agitatedly wrung his hands as he looked between the two brothers. They both began to laugh nastily.

“What do we want?”

“Is ‘e being thick Tommy?”

“I think we need to be more obvious Stan.”

The older brother, Tommy, pushed over the nearest bookshelf sending the contents flying.

“Careful!” cried Aziraphale.

“Oops,” replied Tommy, not sounding very sorry at all. 

“Sorry Mr Fell. My brother’s clumsy.” Stan walked over to Aziraphale and clapped a hand onto his shoulder.

“Very clumsy.” Tommy walked over to Aziraphale’s other side and clapped his own hand onto the angel’s other shoulder. Aziraphale regarded their hands distastefully and removed himself from their grasp.

“Please, just tell me what all this is about.”

“We’re ‘ere to make you a generous offer Mr Fell.” Tommy walked towards Aziraphale until they were centimetres apart, while Stan continued his prowling through the bookshop. “We can make sure nothing ‘appens to your shop, for a very generous price.” Tommy reached up and touched the tip of Aziraphale’s bow tie, rendering it slightly off centre.

“I’m not interested,” the angel responded, slapping the hand away from his bow tie.

“I’d advise you to think again.” Tommy had lowered his voice and glared at Aziraphale.

“Absolutely not.”

“Things break, Mr Fell. Fires start easy enough. You just saw ‘ow clumsy I was just then. Imagine how clumsy I could be if you get me all riled up.”

“Yes well, I could be equally clumsy with your possessions if you get me all… PUT THAT BOOK DOWN!”

Stan had wondered over to the discarded books and had been mindlessly picking them up, bending the spines and chucking them to the side. He’d just picked up Aziraphale’s copy of Northern Lights when the angel spotted what he was holding and practically ran at him and snatched the book out of his hands. Stan looked over to his brother in surprise, then they both lifted their hands up and in a mocking and high pitched voice said:

“OOOOOH!”

Aziraphale hugged the book to his chest and regarded both men angrily.

“Right, I’ve had just about enough of your shenanigans. Get out of my shop. NOW.”

“Or what?” scoffed Stan. “What you goin’ to do gay-lord? ‘ave a sad and lonely wank over us after we’ve gone?”

“Or are you gonna try and bum us right now?”

The older brother bent over, directing his rear in the direction of Aziraphale and began making crude and indecent sounds while thrusting back and forth. The room suddenly began to shake as the brothers laughed cruelly at the angel. They quickly stopped and looked around them, becoming increasingly more confused and rapidly terrified. Aziraphale placed his book gently onto his desk.

“Mr Fell, what’s ‘appening?” Tommy squeaked.

“I’m sorry Mr Fell! We’ll pick the books back up.”

Stan hastily bent down to reach for the books, but the room was now shaking so violently he lost his balance and banged his head on the fallen bookshelf. Tommy also lost his balance and fell flat on his backside. He looked over to Aziraphale and very quickly had to avert his eyes.

Aziraphale had drawn himself up to his full height, and a bright white light emanated from him that shone into every corner of the bookshop. A gust of wind appeared from nowhere and it licked through the angel’s hair, causing his coat to flutter around him. The brothers cowered in fear, not daring to look at the figure before them. Something told them that if they did, they wouldn’t be able to see anything ever again.

“You will leave my bookshop as fast as you are able.” commanded Aziraphale. His voice was different. Far more authoritarian and much deeper than it had been for millennia.

“You will find a different line of work and become decent members of society. You will also desist from such hurtful talk in the future.”

Quaking with horror, Tommy crawled over to his brother and dragged him hurriedly towards the entrance and out into the street.

“Of course Mr Fell!”

“We’re sorry Mr Fell!”

The wind in the bookshop slammed the door behind them with a snap. The ground instantly stopped shaking and the pages of the books stopped flicking wildly as the wind suddenly dropped. Aziraphale closed his eyes and breathed heavily as he drew the light back into himself. Then he stretched and straightened his bow tie. He patted his chest and cleared his throat, it was actually a little sore. He spotted his mug of cocoa he’d made and picked it up to take a drink, before remembering quickly that he had made it last night and it was now congealed. The angel scrunched his nose in disgust as he performed a quick miracle to make the contents drinkable. He took a small gulp and sighed happily. That was better. He turned to look around his shop and surveyed the mess those horrible men had made.

_I should have asked them to tidy up before they left._

Still holding his mug, Aziraphale clicked his fingers and the shop went back to normal, except for his copy of Northern Lights, which remained on his desk. He had performed an awful lot of miracles in such a short space of time. He would have to explain it later when he took his trip to Heaven to make his report.

_Right. His report._

Swiftly, Aziraphale took one last gulp, put down his cocoa, picked up the notes he’d made while studying Agnus Nutter’s prophecies, which were now in a neat pile on his desk, and began to pin them to a wall in the back room. After re-reading what he had written he paced back and forth, practising the speech he was going to deliver to Gabriel.

“…I have his address, and so we just have to eliminate him now, then everything could still be ok, yeah. He’ll have an enormous Hell Hound with him. He won’t be hard to spot.”

Aziraphale glanced over to the table in his back room, the table where Crowley had smelt and realised that the Hell Hound had found the boy. He placed his face in his hands and whimpered, then withdrew them immediately with a gasp of pain as he’d forgotten he’d put his glasses back on and he’d just pressed them unceremoniously into the bridge of his nose. Removing them, he turned his back on the table and told himself once again that he was doing the right thing.

_“So we’re agreed then. No giving up. Work together. Prevent the end of the world.”_

The memory, unhelpfully, resurfaced, and Aziraphale quickly walked out of his back room. There were too many associations with the demon there. There were too many associations with the demon wherever he went!

He sat down on his sofa and attempted to quell the rising guilt that was threatening to overcome him. He should never have agreed to working together with Crowley. He’d been a fool to think that they could change the inevitability of the Great Plan. Crowley always managed to give him hope though, the hope that perhaps somehow, one day, they could escape from their respective sides and live their own lives. Together. Alas, that was merely a desire of the angel’s, not a reality. It could never be. The Great Plan was inevitable and… ineffable.

Aziraphale chastised himself for how he’d got sucked into this fantasy of his yesterday. He blamed the overpowering atmosphere… that must have been because of the Antichrist he now realised. It had made him indulge in his hope too much, to the point that he’d almost…

The comprehension and enormity of what he’d been so close to doing with the demon suddenly engulfed him and quite frankly, scared him. He couldn’t let that happen again. He needed better self-control and if he’d rung Crowley now, or seen him, he would’ve changed his mind, and he couldn’t have that. He had to inform Heaven. It was his job.

Aziraphale looked over at his phone sadly.

“Forgive me,” he whispered.

The angel stood up, removed his inside coat and put his outside coat back on. Pausing for a moment in thought, he walked over to his desk and sat down, deliberately not looking at the book he’d placed on there earlier. Upon finding a spare bit of paper he scribbled a note.

_I am not in. Tending to business. Not sure when I’ll be back. Normal opening hours will resume soon. Hopefully._

_Don’t worry. Everything will be ok._

Not caring how strange the note was to random passers-by, Aziraphale placed the note at the entrance to the shop. Taking one final deep breath he left his premises to go and see his superiors.

_____________

Crowley had been finally drifting off to sleep when he’d felt a tremor somewhere in London. He couldn’t be exactly sure whether he’d imagined it or not, having been in his snake form at the time, slipping in and out of consciousness. He’d decided not to worry about it. Strange events where bound to happen now and again as Armageddon approached.

Giving up on getting any sleep, he reverted back to his human state and phoned his human operative, Sergeant Shadwell of the Witchfinder Army and arranged a meeting between them. Well, he’d originally talked to a woman who had called him ‘big boy’ and asked him what he’d been wearing before being handed over to Shadwell. It didn’t bother Crowley as it was not the first time it had happened. Nor was it the first time he’d overheard Shadwell shouting; “Hand over the phone Jezebel!” before donning a much politer tone when he realised it was Crowley on the other end.

After promising his annual dues and instructing Shadwell to look for an eleven-year-old boy in Tadfield, Crowley left the ‘Best Café in Wandsworth’ (apparently) and drove back to Mayfair. Upon arriving, he made the decision to go for the walk he had been planning on doing in the early hours of this morning. Better than being in his flat with only his skittish plants for company. He reached into a compartment in his Bentley and in-between pairs of spare sunglasses, Crowley found his black headphones. Stepping out of his car, he inserted the headphones into his phone and selected a classical piece to listen to. Danse Macabre.

_Just need a little break from Queen songs. Plus, this is another piece I had a hand in. Wonder if Aziraphale knows that?_

He quickly stopped his train of thought. He was _not_ going to think about the angel. Walks were supposed to be relaxing and they helped to relieve stress. Hell, did Crowley need some help with that these days. If this didn’t work, he could try Yoga when he got back. The demon was certainly flexible enough. He put the headphones in his ears, enjoying how this simple act could make him unapproachable. It was now considered a societal faux pas to talk to someone who was listening to music. Mind you, not that it stopped some people. The intricate violin playing propelled his legs forward and he was off to nowhere in particular.

Placing his hands into his too-small trouser pockets as he strolled along, he soon found that he was actually enjoying himself. He began to regret that he hadn’t done this earlier when there had been fewer people about. Not that there was really any particular time that London wasn’t crawling with pedestrians. The final note played in his ear and the demon waited in anticipation for the phone’s next track. He heard the sound of chimes and then:

_This could be heaven_  
_This could be heaven_  
_This could be heaven for everyone_

Well, so much for his break from Queen! The Bentley’s affinity for the band had clearly passed to the music on his phone along with the CD’s in his car.

“Of all the songs you could have played, you had to play the one about Heaven didn’t you?” Crowley muttered angrily at his phone as he untangled it from his jacket pocket to play something else. He tried not to think about how this song could become a reality if the angels actually won this fight. During his angry tapping of the fast forward button, he caught sight of a familiar building in the corner of his eye, a building that made him groan out loud. While fully concentrating on his music, he’d neglected to pay attention to where his feet were taking him.

They had led him to the street opposite the bookshop.

_Speaking of Heaven._

Crowley sighed in frustration, then, while rolling up his headphones around his phone, he crossed the street to the shop. Inevitably he was going to end up here. Ignoring the CLOSED sign Crowley went to open the door then stopped himself, remembering the anxious nature of their last exchange. He knocked and waited a couple of seconds. Nothing. Not even the angel’s screech of: “We’re closed!”. He opened the letter box and shouted through it.

“Angel? Angel, are you in?”

Still nothing. He straightened up then spotted a new notice on the front door, clearly intended for him.

**_“Don’t worry. Everything will be ok.”_ **

That did nothing but make him worry more. Where was he? What business was he attending to without the demon?

_I thought we’d agreed to work together?_

_Heaven. He’s gone to Heaven hasn’t he?_

The demon was then distracted from his angry reverie by the frantic whispering of two young men nearby.

“Look Stan, you ‘eard what ‘e said.”

“I’m really not sure about this Tommy.”

“We got to! This was supposed to be an easy job. If we can’t show ‘im that were ‘ard, Dad will never let us join! ‘ow’s that bump doing on your ‘ead?”

“It’s fine! Stop fussing! I’ll tell you what though, we’ll prob have worse things ‘appen to us if we go back in-”

“Can I help you guys with something?” Crowley interjected pleasantly.

Both men jumped with fright then quickly pulled themselves together by clearing their throats, running their hands through their hair and tugging on their leather jackets. They shuffled together to hide whatever it was they had put down by their feet.

“Nah, you’re all right bruv,” Tommy responded. “We just popped by to see Mr Fell is all. ‘e in?”

“Doesn’t seem to be, no.”

“Never mind then!” Stan quickly said turning to his brother. “Come on Tommy, we’ll come back later.”

They turned their backs on Crowley and picked up what they had by their feet. Two petrol cans. Crowley felt a swell of fury at the sight. He could sense their intent and their suppressed guilt oozing off them and knew what they had been planning on doing. He may not be much of a fighter when it came to the Dukes of Hell that was true, but with two humans…

He watched them leave then followed them at a distance. After about five minutes or so of the demon ensuing them, the younger one, Stan, turned to glance behind him and spotted Crowley. He turned back sharply and muttered something urgently to the other. The demon couldn’t see what was said back, but he noticed their speed picking up. He gradually picked up his own speed not caring if it made it obvious that he was definitely trailing them. After another couple of minutes of this the men suddenly ducked into a side alley. Crowley performed a quick demonic miracle and appeared in the alley in front of them. Both men cried out in alarm and took several steps back.

“Hey, what’s your game?!” Tommy yelled at the demon, trying and failing to sound tough.

“Oh, this is not a game mate. What were you planning on doing with all that petrol?”

“None of your business!”

“Oh, but it is,” Crowley snarled

“Look just… just leave us alone, yeah?”

“Or what?”

“Or… or you’ll regret it!”

“Wanna bet?”

Stan suddenly lost his nerve and turned on his heel and tried to flee, but found to his horror that the demon was now in front of him.

“’ow’d you do that?!”

Crowley didn’t answer. Instead he strode confidently forward and herded his prey together while a hole in both petrol tanks materialised, leaking petrol around the brothers and onto them.

“Look bruv. Our… our beef’s not with you, yeah?” Tommy stuttered.

“You were planning on burning down my friend’s bookshop. So yeah, _bruv_ , your beef is very much with me now.”

Both the brothers had their backs to a dingy graffiti stained wall and for some reason, their feet felt glued to the ground.

“Please! Please just let us go, yeah?” Stan begged. “We didn’t really want to do it! We’re not going to do it, all right!”

“Going to use this lighter where you?”

Crowley showed them Stan’s lighter that the demon was now holding. Stan's eyes blew wide at the sight and frantically searched his pockets to confirm that it was definitely his.

“ ‘ow’d you get that?!”

Tommy caught a whiff of himself and realised what Crowley was threatening to do.

“Wait! Stop! Don’t use it!”

Frantically, both men tried to escape from the demon, but they couldn’t get their feet to move an inch. Crowley lifted up the lighter and rested his thumb on the spark wheel.

The brothers were practically incoherent, pleading, panicking.

“This is what happens when you play with fire boys.”

Crowley’s thumb struck the wheel and a flame appeared. Ignoring the now completely terrified screams from the humans, he bent down slowly to put the flame next to the petrol. Just as it was about to ignite, the flame went out. The demon looked up and took in the pitiful sight. Stan had tears streaming down his face while Tommy had a large wet stain on the front of his jeans. Crowley straightened up and regarded them both calmly.

“Still want to commit arson?”

Both boys shook their heads violently.

“I didn’t even want to follow Dad in this line of work!” Stan wailed. “When I was a kid, I wanted to put fires out, not start them!”

“I wanted to go to college and study art!” Tommy howled. “I still love going to the top of Primrose ‘ill and sketching the scenery.”

“I’ve seen those,” Stan sobbed. “They’re well good bruv.”

“Thanks fam,” Tommy replied, panting heavily.

“Well, it’s not too late to follow your dreams,” Crowley commented matter-of-factly. 

“You really think so bruv?” Tommy looked at Crowley with hopeful and sad eyes.

“Sure,” Crowley replied, giving them a small smile, which quickly vanished. Both brothers tensed.

“So, that’s what you’re both going to do. You,” he jabbed his finger into Stan’s chest, “You’re going to get your act together and stand up for yourself more. Firefighters are brave, hardworking people and you’re going to have to toughen up if you’re serious about joining.”

Stan nodded fervently.

“And you!” Crowley turned and jabbed his finger into Tommy’s chest this time. “You do the opposite. Cut the tough guy act. Stop being what your Dad wants you to be and be who you actually are! Go paint. Nothing wrong with being sensitive. Oh, and call that guy you’ve been thinking about. Never know, he might feel the same and you can go and have a happy life together somewhere. Away from your Dad and this gang life, which is very clearly not for you two!”

Tommy gaped at the depth at the demon had just delved into his psyche.

“Do I make myself clear?” Crowley growled at him.

Tommy quickly nodded.

“Good. Good, and remember, if you come anywhere near my friend or his bookshop again…”

He lowered his glasses to reveal his eyes.

_A warning sign. Keep your distance. Stay away._

“I will find you and I won’t be so forgiving again. You’re lucky I’m sparing you at all.”

“What… _what_ are you?” Stan gasped.

Crowley stepped back and put his glasses back in their proper place. He clicked his fingers with both hands and the brothers found they could move again and that the petrol had completely vanished.

“Go on then. _Run_!” Crowley hissed at them.

They didn’t have to be told twice.

“This is one weird ‘ell of a day Tommy!” Stan gasped out as they headed to the street beyond the ally.

“You’re telling me fam! First Mr Fell and now that geezer…”

Crowley heard no more as they vanished behind the corner. He chuckled to himself over what he’d just done and gleefully chucked the lighter in the air and caught it.

_Hang on. What did he mean by ‘first Mr Fell’...?_

The demon turned on his heel and headed straight back to the bookshop, depositing the lighter in a bin as he went.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just really wanted to write some bamf Aziraphale and Crowley scenes ok! 
> 
> As always, comments are appreciated :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter contains angst. Causing angst can be dangerous. Do not attempt in your own home.

Chapter 5- Episode Hard Times (Continued)

“So, Aziraphale… got your message. Have you got something big? Lay it on us.”

“I’m sorry?”

Aziraphale, upon arriving in Heaven, had sent a note with a passing cherub to ask for a meeting with the Archangels. He’d stood in position while he waited, methodically running through what he was going to say. He detested how nervous being in this environment made him. It should feel like coming home as it was the place he was born. Well, created really. He told himself, once again, that he was doing the right thing.

“ _Oh, you’re an angel. I don’t think you can do the wrong thing.”_

This memory usually made him feel better whenever he was unsure about a decision. This time however, it wasn’t having the desired effect. He’d clenched his hands tighter behind his back as the angels approached him and Gabriel addressed him. Attempting, very quickly, to compose himself.

“What’s happening?” Uriel prompted.

“Ok,” Aziraphale began and cleared his throat. “So… well,” he cleared his throat again. “It’s… it’s about the Antichrist.”

“Yes?”

“I think that, um, well it’s not impossible, uh, considering all… all the alternatives that the… the other side, might have lost track of him.”

Aziraphale laughed nervously while the angels exchanged looks of confusion.

“The other side?” Michael asked incredulously. 

Aziraphale helpfully pointed downwards.

“Lost track of him?” Gabriel scoffed. “He’s the son of the U.S ambassador. He’s under constant surveillance.”

“The ‘other side’ are currently transporting him to the plains of Meggido,” Michael confidently stated. “Apparently that’s the traditional starting point.”

“Middle Eastern unrest. Everything else just follows. The Four Horsemen ride out. Last great battle between Heaven and Hell.” Gabriel was practically rubbing his hands with glee at the thought.

“Yes. Well, um…”

_Here we go._

“It’s possible that the demon, Crowley, a… a wily adversary… keeps me on my toes, I can tell you!”

_Careful. Try not to hint that you actually like him!_

Aziraphale dropped the nervous smile on his face and continued more seriously.

“But, the, um ambassador’s, uh, son, uh… well it may have been a ruse.”

“A ruse?” Sandalphon repeated suspiciously.

_No going back now._

“And the actual Antichrist might be, um… somewhere else.”

Aziraphale attempted a shy laugh to dispel the tense atmosphere that was rapidly suffocating him. It made no difference. The angels all stared at him, their faces hard as stone. Michael’s in particular. Gabriel quickly returned his encouraging smile to his face. This smile, however, did not quite reach his purple eyes.

“Where?”

Aziraphale had planned on telling them everything. Had practised what he was going to say the entire journey up here. Something about the flash of Gabriel’s eyes though, and the hint of something sinister behind his tone gave Aziraphale pause.

“Not sure. I mean, I… I could find out. I have a team of… agents. A dedicated team who… who would investigate the possibility. Um… hypothetically speaking, if that were the case-”

“It wouldn’t change anything, Aziraphale,” Uriel interrupted. Uriel always had an uncanny way of knowing what you were thinking or what you were going to say. It had always unnerved Aziraphale.

“There was war in Heaven long before the earth was created,” Gabriel asserted seriously. “Crowley and the rest were cast out, but nothing was ever really settled.”

Aziraphale would never forget, no matter how much he wanted to. The clash of flaming sword on flaming sword. The panic everywhere. The screams of terror…

“I suppose it wasn’t,” Aziraphale hesitantly agreed. “But there doesn’t have to be another war? Does there?”

This was the first time he hadn’t stumbled over his words. This is what he really needed to know.

“As much as we appreciate your hypotheticals, Aziraphale, I’m afraid we have other things to do. The Earth isn’t going to just end itself, you know.” Gabriel smiled at him. It was his cue to leave.

“No. Yes. Right.”

As the angels left him Aziraphale suddenly realised that they had made no mention of any of the miracles that he had performed that morning. That was highly suspicious since these had been far more than “frivolous”. Were they even checking up on him anymore? Or maybe they were simply preoccupied preparing for the end of days. That sounded more likely. 

He played the reassuring memory again.

“ _Oh, you’re an angel. I don’t think you can do the wrong thing.”_

This time, it made him feel slightly better.

_____________

That tremor… maybe he hadn’t imagined it.

Crowley laughed out loud as he walked, ignoring the bewildered expression of the humans he passed. He couldn’t believe he’d missed Aziraphale going full avenging angel on those idiots. He couldn’t wait to tell the angel his part in all this. As he rounded the corner towards the bookshop he spotted the angel entering the premises and slamming the door behind him. Delighted, Crowley started to cross the road then stopped. Perhaps he should wait a moment before pouncing on him. Plus, Crowley suddenly recalled how angry he’d been at Aziraphale before he’d been distracted. What was he going to Heaven for without telling Crowley first?

His thoughts were interrupted suddenly by a honk from a car. He’d forgotten he was standing in the middle of the road. Crowley held up a hand in apology, continued to the other side then contemplated his next move. A part of him wanted to storm into the bookshop and confront Aziraphale, to ask what was going on. When the angel had realised there’d been another baby at the hospital he’d rung Crowley then, so what was different now? Or maybe the angel didn’t have anything and Crowley was just reading too much into his absence and silence.

Aziraphale suddenly appeared at the door and Crowley instinctively ducked behind a parked car out of sight.

_Fight or flight._

Crowley had already chosen fight today; he didn’t really fancy another one. After about thirty seconds or so he peered around the car and saw that the angel was no longer there. The sign on the front door had changed however. Instead of the usual CLOSED sign, Aziraphale had replaced it with a different and much longer one. The sign now said: VERY VERY VERY CLOSED.

Ok, maybe now wasn’t the right time to demand to know what was happening.

Crowley stood back up and without a second glance walked away from the bookshop, taking his complicated array of emotions with him. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and untangled the mess he’d made with his headphones. He popped them back into his ears just as a new song began to play:

_I was born to love you_   
_With every single beat of my heart_   
_Yes, I was born to take care of you,_

_Every single day..._

Crowley glared furiously at the device. The song stopped, as though sensing the demon’s wrath, then played a different track to save it from being thrown violently under a passing lorry. It opted for Summer from Vivaldi’s Four Seasons, the third movement.

“That’s better,” Crowley growled, then headed in the direction of Hyde Park for some well overdue stress relief.

_______

Aziraphale fumbled with his keys in his haste to open the door to the bookshop and let it slam behind him in his agitation. He’d done the right thing, not that it had appeared to make any difference to his superiors or the overall outcome. Now he was going to make good on his promise to Crowley and contact his human operative: Sergeant Shadwell.

A sudden honk from a car and an angry shout made the angel turn his head in the direction of the commotion with a scowl. How was he supposed to concentrate or make important phone calls when London was always so noisy? He walked over to his desk and rummaged around in one of the top draws for a sign he rarely used, but had in case he needed to make himself absolutely clear that he was most definitely closed. Having found it, he went to the front door and pulled back the blind to replace the sign. As he did so, he thought he spotted some flaming red hair moving swiftly out of sight.

“Crowley?”

Aziraphale stared at the spot for a few more seconds before shaking his head and putting the blind back in position. He was obviously seeing things now. 

He walked over to his neglected cocoa that was still on his desk. He was about to miraculously heat up the contents when he stopped himself.

_Better not._

The angel didn’t want to push his luck and have the angels start to take notice of him again, so he went to his back room to pour the contents down the sink and make a fresh beverage.

He couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d dug himself into a bit of a hole by reporting to Heaven and was steadily having an awful feeling that he was now being watched with more scrutiny. That exchange in Heaven had left him a bit on edge as it was impossible to tell what they had made of his findings. He’d hoped that it would have sprung them into action, to want to find the Antichrist and to, well, put a stop to all this nonsense. Instead, they had seemed, quite frankly, uninterested.

The sound of the kettle boiling made Aziraphale jump unintentionally, interrupting his gloomy musings. As he poured he muttered to himself angrily.

“Come on now. Pull yourself together!”

Why did those awful men have to pick today of all days to come into his bookshop and get him all riled up? It had put him all out of sorts. The angel picked up his mug and took a sip, then gave a soft “ahhh” of contentment. Nothing like a bit of camomile tea to calm the nerves.

Holding his mug in both hands, he walked over to his desk and looked around out of the window. He couldn’t see anyone watching him, or sense any angels for that matter. He looked up and down the street to see if he could spot the Bentley parked somewhere. He was certain that he had spotted Crowley earlier, but what he wasn’t entirely certain about was whether he wanted to see the demon at this particular moment. 

Should he tell Crowley his new information now that he had informed Heaven? Better call Sergeant Shadwell first, get that in motion at least.

The angel put down his tea then walked over to his antique telephone in a secluded corner of the shop. He used this phone for business calls primarily. Unable to completely ignore his paranoia that an invisible presence was observing his every movement he scanned the shop for intruders before he dialled. Around the third ring, a woman answered his call with a deep and posh accent.

**“Helllooo.”**

“Witchfinder Sergeant Shadwell, please. Or, um, one of his officers,” Aziraphale replied looking around apprehensively as he did so. 

___________

_Well, so much for stress relief!_

All Crowley had managed to achieve on his stroll around Hyde Park was a growing anger and anxiety over his situation. He’d performed random demonic acts on his journey in an effort to cheer himself up, such as making a child’s ice cream cone fall on the floor, causing a man to drop his phone into the Serpentine and making two unsuspecting joggers run into each other. The last one did actually escalate into a scuffle but it hadn’t really brought Crowley any joy. None of them had.

He was now back at his flat heading straight for the cabinet where he kept the alcohol. He hadn’t had a drop since the last time he was in the bookshop. Nothing else was working to help calm him so why not give the ‘Glendronach 15-Year-Old Revival’ a try? The demon didn’t bother to get a glass; he took a swig straight from the bottle.

_“Steady on! You’re supposed to savour it!”_

_“Yeah well, not sure I have a lot of time left to savour anything anymore.”_

The demon had been right then and was still right about it now. They were really running out of time. He wandered into his room with the television and pondered for a moment about putting something on to watch. Guarantee if he did that though, Hastur and Ligur would probably interrupt anyway. Crowley grunted in frustration and took another swig from the bottle.

If he’d had any sense, or demonic instinct in him at all, he wouldn’t still be here. He would have left as soon as he realised the Antichrist had gone walkabouts. _Should_ have left. He could be in a galaxy far, far away by now, so what was keeping him here?

_Aziraphale._

Crowley tilted his head back and groaned loudly, which reverberated around the room. He _hated_ that he felt this way towards the angel. He couldn’t pinpoint exactly when he knew how important this ethereal being was to him, it had just become a fact of his existence. He slumped onto his throne and swung his legs over an arm rest as he gulped down some more whiskey. While walking around the park, Crowley had attempted to plan how to ask the angel to, well, run away with him. There was no other way of putting it really. The demon couldn’t wait around anymore. The longer he stayed here, the more danger he was in. He leaned back and looked over to his portrait of the Mona Lisa. A souvenir of his time with Leonardo Da Vinci. It had taken the poor bugger countless sketches to get her bloody smile right! Crowley had been very fond of the man; he’d helped him with the design of the helicopter. He wondered what Leonardo would say if he’d knew Crowley would use his most famous portrait to hide his ‘insurance’. The ace in his deck he’d hoped he’d never have to play. It was starting to look more and more likely now that he was going to have to…

Right, he needed to know what was going on. He and Aziraphale needed to talk.

_Help me Angel of the Eastern Gate. You’re my only hope!_

Crowley chuckled to himself at his own wit as he lifted his legs and swung himself around to face his desk while regarding his phone thoughtfully. The demon could just go over to the bookshop, but considering how rattled Aziraphale had appeared to be recently, maybe they should go old school and meet at one of their secret locations.

After one final swig Crowley set the bottle down on his desk, flung himself up and picked up his phone.

__________

Aziraphale was pacing around his shop miserably. He’d put his inside coat back on to see if being comfortable would help him relax. It didn’t. He had tried settling down with an Oscar Wilde first edition. That hadn’t helped either. All too often he found his mind drifting and had to read the same passage again. Sometimes thrice. Eventually he gave up.

The angel had been glancing at the phone on his check out desk intermittently for the past couple of hours, simultaneously wanting it and not wanting it to ring.

Ever since the war in Heaven it had been drilled into him that demons were incapable of doing good. It was down to their basic nature. However, ever since their first conversation on the wall, Crowley had proved that belief wrong time and time again. He had made Hamlet a success, had saved Aziraphale from the guillotine and, the big one really; he had saved his books, along with Aziraphale, from being blown up. From that point on, he had known exactly how he’d felt about the demon. He was a being of love after all, almost an expert on the topic. One thing the angel did not know, however, was the answer to this question:

Could demons feel love?

He honestly wasn’t sure. He had felt affection emanating from the demon many times before so he knew that the demon at least cared for him.

Love however. That was another matter entirely.

Regardless, he could not let his… fondness for Crowley cloud his judgment where the Apocalypse was concerned. They were the representatives of each of their sides. **_Opposite_** sides. Good and Evil.

_But Crowley is not evil!_

It was at this moment the agitated pacing began. There was nothing the angel could do to change their allegiances. The choice had been made for him once Lucifer fell, dragging Crowley with him and the whole concept of ‘sides’ was created.

He belonged to Heaven.

Aziraphale turned his back on his phone and looked in the direction of the back room where his gramophone was located. Perhaps some Schubert would improve his mood. It was that moment that the phone behind him began to ring and Aziraphale turned around sharply and without thinking, removed his reading glasses and hastily answered the phone.

He really needed better self-control.

**“It’s me. Meet me at the third alternative rendezvous,”** Crowley commanded on the other end.

“Uh, is that the old bandstand, the number nineteen bus or the British Museum café?”

**“The bandstand! I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”**

“Hang on wait a moment!” Aziraphale began, but Crowley had already hung up before the angel could finish saying ‘hang’. He looked at his receiver in annoyance; Crowley could be rather rude sometimes. He put the receiver back down and immediately began to panic.

_Maybe I shouldn’t go._

Oh, but he couldn’t just disregard Crowley like that. It wasn’t the right thing to do. Besides, if he didn’t go Crowley would only drive over to the bookshop and demand to know why Aziraphale hadn’t shown up and he would have every right to do so.

No, it was no use, he had to go.

As the angel returned to his outside coat he gave himself a pep talk.

“Right. You are not to tell him about the Antichrist. You will gently remind him of the Great Plan and the ineffability of the situation. And you will calmly suggest that we go our separate ways on this issue.”

He nodded to himself and adjusted his coat.

“This is very important. Do **_not_** mess this up.”

Despite his attempted conviction he did hesitate before leaving his premises. After a couple of moments of deliberation, he shook his head and purposefully opened his door and headed towards St James’ Park, glancing behind him periodically as he went to be quite sure he wasn’t being followed.

______________

Crowley paced around the bandstand restlessly. He was starting to wish he’d drunk more whiskey before coming here. He needed some liquid courage right now. Crowley was seriously regretting not going into the bookshop earlier to have this conversation. Armageddon was happening tomorrow and they needed a plan.

_Fight or flight._

The demon then spotted the angel in the distance walking towards him, far too slowly for Crowley’s liking. He resisted the urge to run at the angel, grab him and demand to know what he had been up to. Crowley still felt some guilt for slamming him into the wall yesterday. He would need to handle this exchange delicately, which was not his strong suit.

“Well?” Crowley asked before Aziraphale had even entered the band stand, “Any news?”

“Um… what, what kind of news would that be?”

_What’s the weather going to be like tomorrow? What sort of news do you think Angel?!_

“Well, have you found the missing Antichrist’s name, address and shoe size yet?”

“His shoe size? Why… why would I have his shoe size?”

Aziraphale attempted to keep his voice light, but he could hear the tremor running through it. He was certain that the demon could see how anxious he was.

“It’s a joke. I’ve got nothing either.” Crowley hoped this confession would prey on Aziraphale’s honourable and charitable nature and get him to admit everything. Aziraphale, however, did not rise to the bait.

“It’s the Great Plan, Crowley,” the angel stated.

Was that it? Crowley knew better than to announce that he knew Aziraphale had been to Heaven and that he was keeping something from him. The angel would out right deny it and storm off. The demon’s frustration at the whole situation was now at breaking point.

“Yeah. For the record. Great pustulent mangled bollocks to THE GREAT BLASTED PLAN!” Crowley yelled towards the heavens.

Aziraphale looked around in agitation, wishing Crowley would keep his voice down. He did not want to attract the attention of any of the humans nearby and certainly not any angels who might be tailing him…

“May you be forgiven,” Aziraphale croaked out, terrified at the sudden thought that they were being watched.

Crowley turned and looked at him angrily.

“I won’t be forgiven. Not ever. That’s part of a demon’s job description. Unforgivable. That’s what I am.”

“You were an angel once.” Aziraphale attempted to console.

“That was a long time ago.”

Aziraphale winced inwardly. He should have known better than to bring that up. Crowley, understandably so, was always unwilling to discuss his time in Heaven.

_I really am making a mess of all this aren’t I?_

Desperate to get things back on track, Crowley walked over to Aziraphale and said: “We find the boy. My agents can do it.”

“And then what? We eliminate him?”

There was a slight awkward pause as they had landed on the issue that neither of them wanted to have anything to do with.

“Someone does. I’m not personally up for killing kids.”

“You’re the demon. I’m the nice one. I don’t have to kill children!”

“Uh-uh-uh.”

“If you kill him, then the world gets a reprieve and Heaven does not have blood on its hands.”

“Oh, no blood on your hands? That’s a bit holier-than-thou isn’t it?”

“Well I am a great deal holier-than-thou. That’s the whole point!” 

“You should kill the boy yourself. Holi-ly.”

“I am not. Killing. Anybody!”

Aziraphale looked at Crowley pleadingly, desperate for the demon to understand his predicament. They were standing so close together and Aziraphale’s resolve was so close to diminishing. He wanted to reach out, press his head to Crowley’s chest and confess everything that had transpired since the last time they were together. Then the fear of how much he cared for the demon raised its ugly head and he looked away sharply, staring instead at a patch of ground to Crowley’s right. He reminded himself, forcefully, that he had chosen his side.

Crowley’s patience, meanwhile, was beginning to run out with the angel.

“This is ridiculous. You are ridiculous. I don’t even know why I’m still talking to you.”

“Well, frankly, neither do I,” Aziraphale shot back. 

“Enough. I’m leaving.” The demon turned to go.

“You can’t leave Crowley!” Aziraphale called after him instinctively. “There isn’t anywhere to go,” he added lamely. 

“It’s a big universe!” Crowley declared, turning back with his arms outstretched. Then the demon made a decision. He would not have a chance to ask this again.

“Even if this does end up in a puddle of burning goo, we can go off together.”

_There, I’ve said it._

Aziraphale was completely taken aback. Here Crowley was, once again, giving him hope.

“Go off together?”

This was the closest that the angel had come to throwing everything aside and just giving in to his desires. It was a dream come true! No Heaven. No Hell. Nothing to hold them back.

_I can’t._

He was an angel. A Principality. Guardian of the Eastern gate of Eden. A guardian of humanity, in a way. He couldn’t just leave, he had to at least try and stop this from becoming ‘a puddle of burning goo’ as Crowley so eloquently put it. Free will was for the humans. The demon standing with his arms thrown out wide in front of him had seen to that. The angel could never have a bite of that apple no matter how much he wanted to.

“Listen to yourself,” Aziraphale continued, the bitterness at the unfairness of it all emanating in his tone.

Crowley, nevertheless, was determined to keep trying, the optimist in him refusing to back down. 

“How long have we been friends? Six thousand years!” Crowley exclaimed.

“Friends? We’re not friends!” Aziraphale blurted out in his despair. “We are an ** _angel_** and a **_demon._** We have nothing whatsoever in common. I don’t even like you!” He turned quickly to leave, wanting to be anywhere but here.

“You do!” Crowley called after him. They didn’t have time for the angel to have a tantrum.

Aziraphale turned back round sharply, frantic in his grief.

“Even if I did know where the Antichrist was, I wouldn’t tell you. We’re on opposite sides!” Aziraphale shouted at the demon.

“We’re on our side!” Crowley hissed edging forward. In his agitation he could feel himself losing control of his human form, again. He needed the angel to understand this. He needed… well… him.

_Fight._

“There is no ‘our side’ Crowley! Not anymore.” Aziraphale continued with his yelling. He needed the demon to understand. Aziraphale couldn’t go with him. He needed Crowley to be safe. He needed Crowley to leave…

“It’s over.”

Crowley felt as if he’d been punched in the stomach. This was not how he had expected this whole exchange to go. Every hope he’d had left in him had been ripped from him at Aziraphale’s words. 

“Right. Well then… ngk.”

He could not think of a single retort to that. So instead the demon turned on his heel and left the bandstand.

_Flight._

Aziraphale couldn’t bear it. As he looked away he felt the urge to do something that he hadn’t done for many years. The angel could feel the tears prickling in the corner of his eyes, threatening to fall.

“Have a nice doomsday!” Crowley called nastily over his shoulder, finally thinking of a retort.

Aziraphale watched him go until he was a speck in the distance. Then he allowed himself to lower his head as his body shook. He scrunched up his face but that did nothing to prevent the tears from rolling down his cheeks.

_“I do hope I didn’t do the wrong thing.”_

_“Oh, you’re an angel. I don’t think you can do the wrong thing.”_

He all at once felt very alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always comments are really really appreciated. Love to know your thoughts and feelings about this work.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I really didn't want to split this episode into two parts, so instead, have a realllllyyy long chapter!
> 
> There is more angst with some comedy thrown in so it's not all doom and gloom. Things do start hotting up towards the end, just not in a good way...

Chapter 6-Episode: Saturday Morning Funtime

_You don't fool me, you don't fool me_ _  
You don't fool me, you don't fool me  
You don't fool me._

A new Queen song blasted through the Bentley as Crowley raced back to his flat. He could feel the need to scream welling up inside him, but resisted the urge. He’d wait until he was back in the flat.

_It’s over._

After six thousand years, all it took was one mistimed trip to Heaven for this… this thing between them to be **_over?_**

The song was right. Aziraphale wasn’t fooling him. The angel knew where the Antichrist was despite what he claimed. But what the Heaven was stopping him from telling Crowley?

_Heaven is stopping him isn’t it?_

Crowley pulled aggressively into his parking space, slammed the door behind him and stormed inside. He really needed a drink.

Once inside the flat, he walked straight into his office space, grabbed the bottle of whiskey and immediately took two large gulps. He looked out of the windows in front of him. The sun was setting, creating a beautiful orange and lilac glow over London. Crowley snarled and with a snap of his fingers closed his shutters, casting the room into darkness. He needed to be completely alone, without the reminder of what he was going to lose in less than twelve hours. That’s what he was now.

Completely alone.

_He’s chosen Heaven over me hasn’t he?_

He took another gulp of his whiskey, took off his glasses and walked out into the corridor, to pace up and down while he struggled to organise his thoughts into some form of plan and not focus on the resentment and restlessness that was fighting to take hold. Eventually, he came to a halt opposite his gothic mirror that he had cracked before. He gazed at it and took in the pitiful sight. His features were lined with worry and hopelessness, his eyes in particular filled with grief and fear.

**_Pathetic._ **

****

The mirror began to shake violently as Crowley’s rage threatened to break free.

**_Stay away. Keep your distance._ **

Then Crowley couldn't keep it in anymore. He yelled and screamed at the mirror, which shattered, flinging pieces of glass in every direction all over the floor. Once he had finished releasing his anguish, he panted heavily, gave a small whimper and slid down the wall behind him. He chucked his glasses carelessly to the side, and placed his head in his hands. The demon stayed like that until dawn broke, drinking intermittently from his bottle. He felt exhausted but far too wound up to try and sleep. He didn't even have the energy to get another bottle of whiskey once he had finished the first. He just sat there, wrapped up in his bitterness and sorrow 

Finally, Crowley found the drive to at least stand up and head to his kitchen to get another bottle. He left his glasses and the empty bottle behind on the glass covered floor.

Crowley flopped down at his small kitchen table, shrugged out of his jacket and, without thinking, clicked on the small yet stylish television in the corner of the kitchen. He needed to be distracted from his own mind, even if it meant risking an invasion from the Dukes of Hell. He let the tedious news reports wash over him, something about the best shows to go and see at the Edinburgh Fringe Festival, some bloke complaining about how his neighbour keeps on stealing his hose-pipe and paddling pool and a segment on top fashion tips to wear this summer. Like any of this was going to matter after today! Crowley took another swig from his bottle, which was already half empty, when along came a news report that caught his attention completely. 

_“That’s not the only news we’re hearing from the ocean. Some initial reports claim that the land that’s risen in the Atlantic, is the sunken continent of Atlantis. This photograph of so-called Atlanteans has been posted by passengers on a holiday cruise ship. Strange times indeed.”_

“So, it begins,” he muttered darkly, glaring at the picture of a kind of prize-giving ceremony on board the cruise ship. He took another grumpy swig from the bottle and sighed.

“Right. Better decide on where to go then.”

He lifted himself off his chair and headed back to his office. Whilst pushing through the revolving wall he imagined a globe on his desk and because that’s what he wanted, that’s what he got. He played around with the globe and looked through his Extremely Big Book of Astronomy, admiring his work on a particular nebula as he did so. Nowhere, however, appealed to him. Then Crowley did something that he would never ever consider doing unless he had been in such a fragile state as he was, also a little tipsy. He spoke to God.

“I only ever asked questions!” he declared, with his arm draped over his throne and a melancholy look towards the heavens. “That’s all it took to be a demon in the old days. Great Plan? God, you listening? Show me a Great Plan.”

He waited a moment as though expecting a response, which of course, never came.

“Ok, I know you’re testing them, you said you were going to be testing them. You shouldn’t test them to destruction. Not to the end of the world!” 

He swatted at the globe in frustration as it floated next to him, which fell back into place a second later.

Why couldn’t he decide on where to go? Well, he knew why, he just didn’t want to admit it.

Crowley loved the Earth. He loved humanity with all the good and bad mistakes they had made over the years. Nowhere he went would ever compare to his life on this planet. Especially not on his own. Crowley ran his hands through his hair and stalked back to the kitchen to his new best friend. He switched off the TV as he picked up the bottle, and instead opted for a different medium to distract himself. Radio 4 was Crowley’s favourite radio station. It’s where he had heard about talking to plants back in the 1970s and he was a big fan of the programme The Archers. Right now though, the station was in the middle of an interview with an outside caller:

_“…and he’s back on the line to James Knockley.”_

_“So, could what happened at Turning Point Nuclear Power Station be terrorist activity?”_

_“Could be! All we need to do is find some terrorists capable of removing an entire nuclear reactor while it’s still running without anyone noticing!”_

_“How can it still be producing electricity if it hasn’t got any reactors?”_

_“We don’t know that. We were hoping you clever buggers at the BBC would have an idea!”_

_There was a scuffle of microphones and the original presenter spoke._

_“Um, on behalf of BBC Radio 4, I would like to apologise to anyone who was offended by Mr Knockley’s language. Uhh… while we see if we can get someone else to talk to us about this extraordinary occurrence at the Nuclear Power Station, why, um, don’t we play you a bit of the legendary band, The Clash?_

As the guitar riff began to play Crowley chuckled despite himself. This was something he was definitely going to miss when he left. Heated debates on the radio, resulting in some good old “offensive” language. Crowley nodded along with the beat of the music, wondering idly when Radio 4 started playing music. It was usually just plays and interviews. Abruptly, he realised what song was playing, then he groaned loudly, and flung his head and arms onto the table in front of him.

_Darling, you got to let me know_ _  
Should I stay or should I go?  
If you say that you are mine  
I'll be here 'til the end of time  
So you got to let me know  
Should I stay or should I go?_

Music was normally an enjoyable pastime for Crowley, these days however, it seemed determined to torture him.

_Should I stay or should I go now?_ _  
Should I stay or should I go now?  
If I go, there will be trouble  
And if I stay it will be double  
So come on and let me know_

_Should I stay or should I go?_

“Urgghh! Stop playing annoyingly appropriate songs!” Crowley growled into his arm. The radio fell silent instantly.

He should go. There was nothing left for him here.

_“It’s over.”_

“Why the Heaven can’t you come with me?” he mumbled, still addressing his arm.

Crowley had played their last exchange over and over again and instead of becoming less painful, it had become more painful each time he remembered the sharp-edged words.

_“Friends? We’re not friends!”_

_“I don’t even like you!”_

_“Opposite sides!”_

Had the demon really been misreading their relationship all this time? They were at least friends! Best friends!

_And more…_

Crowley sat up, finished off his bottle of whiskey and stood up to shove his jacket back on. No, he hadn’t decided on where to go, but he knew that he couldn’t just wait here for Hastur and Ligur to find him in his flat like a sitting duck. He walked back to the corridor to collect his glasses, which miraculously didn’t even have a scratch on them. He could clean all this glass up, but really, he just couldn’t be bothered. As he reached for the handle of his front door to leave, he paused and looked up.

“You better not let anything happen to him,” he snarled antagonistically.

Then Crowley left his flat to find somewhere else that was dark and quiet to collect his thoughts.

____________

After leaving the bandstand, Aziraphale had found a secluded area of the park where he could weep more openly. He had sat on a park bench with his face in his hands and had let it all out. Eventually the tears had subsided and after blowing his nose with his pocket handkerchief he had taken a gloomy walk around the park. He wished that he didn’t feel emotions so strongly- “oversensitive” Crowley had called him the other day- because while Aziraphale had defended himself, declaring it was simply his job, right at this moment, he was detesting it. Longing, for once, to not be able to feel, well, anything.

He had no desire to return to his bookshop. He continued at his slow pace while coming to terms with the fact that it would be a long time before he would see the demon again. That’s if he ever actually saw him again…

Eventually, morning broke and more humans appeared gradually around him. He paused in his meandering to feed some of the ducks that had woken up, trying desperately not to think of the times he and Crowley had done this activity together. Particularly, not a certain memory from 1862. Another fight. The underlining factor that connected these two heated exchanges was that, from the angel’s side of things, it had been about Crowley’s safety.

_“Out of the question.”_

_“Why not?”_

_“It would destroy you. I’m not bringing you a suicide pill, Crowley!”_

_“That’s not what I want it for! Just insurance.”_

The decision to eventually give the demon said insurance had never sat right with Aziraphale. A single drop would completely destroy Crowley. The fact that the demon felt he needed such an item in his possession, for the simple reason that he and Aziraphale were associates, made Aziraphale, once again, feel anger and frustration at the unfairness of it all. The angel started to throw bread towards the ducks significantly less gently than before.

_Well, he’s left now and hopefully his head start will mean that he will never have to use it._

Aziraphale threw the last of the bread away, dusted the crumbs from his hands and was about to finally head back to his bookshop when a child-like voice interrupted his reverie.

“Excuse me? Aziraphale Principality?”

Aziraphale looked down and saw one of the cherubs from Heaven. They had dressed in a school uniform so as to blend in with the humans. Except that they had got the period a little off. They resembled an evacuee from the 1940s, wearing shorts with knee length socks, a tie and blazer and a cap on their head. They also carried a satchel in which they were rummaging. Having found what they were looking for, they handed a golden envelope to Aziraphale.

“A message from Gabriel Archangel, he requests you swiftly read his instructions and follow them to the letter.”

“Oh… yes, yes of course I shall!”

“Any replies?”

“No, no just… just tell him I’ll of course do as he says.”

“Very good, Aziraphale Principality.”

The cherub bowed, turned and began to skip away.

Aziraphale immediately reached into his coat pocket, produced a letter opener and hurriedly opened his letter. After pocketing the letter opener and putting on his reading glasses he read the beautiful calligraphy engraved on the paper.

**_Aziraphale._ **

**_Before Armageddon goes ahead, I would like to have a final conversation with you about your duties on this final day on Earth._ **

**_Stay where you are. I shall be along shortly._ **

**_Archangel Gabriel, the guardian angel of Israel, who delivered the message unto the Virgin Mary, who instructed the Shepherds to attended the baby Jesus, the son of the Almighty and who guided the wise men as a star to their holy destination._ **

Aziraphale glared a little at the last section of the letter. Yes, Gabriel had done all those things of course, but if Aziraphale hadn’t also been there, those tasks would not have gone as well as they had. If angels were now using their heavenly duties in their titles, then Aziraphale’s would be very long indeed!

Regardless, now was not the time to be petty. What was Gabriel going to ask him to do? Aziraphale pocketed the letter, removed his glasses and looked around nervously. He spotted the cherub, crouched behind a bush, aiming their bow and arrow at two women who were clearly having their clandestine meeting. Azirapahle gazed mournfully at the scene before him. He was of course, delighted for this soon to be happy couple, however, he wished these two women knew how lucky they were. This scene could never have taken place between him and Crowley. Or maybe it had, and instead of a happy ending, these poor women were going to be subjected to a life of longing with no hope of any relief from their internal suffering.

Aziraphale looked away from them sharply and found himself walking away, feeling a little sick to the stomach.

Gabriel had told him to stay where he was, but he hadn’t meant the exact position he had been standing in. So long as he stayed in the park there was no harm in keeping himself occupied.

So that’s what Aziraphale did for the next hour or so. He kept an eye out for Gabriel of course and soon began to wish the Archangel would hurry up. The longer he waited, the more anxious he was becoming. He began to consider that that was Gabriel’s intention. As he walked about, the angel overheard snippets of conversation from the passing humans.

“Did you see the link I sent you about those weird people in diving suits they found?”

“Apparently it’s supposed to be Atlantis!”

“I can’t believe people are falling for it! It’s obviously fake!”

“The captain had clearly been on the wacky baccy!”

“It can’t be real, can it?”

Now, under normal circumstances, Aziraphale would have assumed these people had all been talking about a popular television show. Today, however, this was definitely the beginning of the end.

Aziraphale then spied a human statue, completely gold and dressed as an angel. Aziraphale stopped to admire the work of the human then as he turned away with a smile, spotted Gabriel, jogging ahead of him. He quickly ran to catch up with him. Aziraphale jogged awkwardly alongside the Archangel, expecting him to stop in his exercise so they could have their meeting. Gabriel, however, did not so much as glance in his direction. So, to get his attention, Aziraphale addressed him.

“It’s me.”

“I know it’s you, Aziraphale,” Gabriel replied, exasperatingly, and continued jogging.

“Oh yes. Right,” Aziraphale stuttered, already feeling slightly out of breath. “Look, we need to get word upstairs to the… to the… to the Big Boss. There’s-there’s been prophecies.”

“What’s in human prophecies that matters to us?”

“Well, er, the Kraken wakes and rises from the sea floor. So does Atlantis. And the rain forest return and that’s just for starters. Armageddon is coming! And I’m fairly certain it starts today. Just after tea time.”

“Exactly. Right on schedule. What’s your point?”

“Look, will you please stop, just for a minute? Please?”

Gabriel slowed to a halt, rolled his and eyes and looked down at Aziraphale with his hands on his hips as Aziraphale bent over, panting heavily. He quickly attempted to catch his breath as Gabriel regarded him impatiently.

“Well?”

“I just… I just thought there was something we could do.”

“There is. We can fight. And we can win.”

“But there doesn’t have to be a war.”

“Of course there does. Otherwise, how would we win it?”

Gabriel gave him a patronising grimace.

“Hmm? Now look, wrap up whatever you need to wrap up down here. Report back to active service and…”

Gabriel looked down at Aziraphale’s stomach, gestured to it and sighed.

“Loose the gut. Come on.” He continued by giving Aziraphale some light punches to the stomach as Aziraphale attempted to laugh slightly along with, what he hoped, was playful banter. “You’re a lean, mean fighting machine. What are ya?”

Gabriel suddenly continued with his jogging without warning and Aziraphale watched him leave.

“I’m…” Aziraphale began, but then spotted what Gabriel was heading towards: The bandstand.

All at once, his still fresh emotional bruises flared up, coupled with some additional disgust at the state of his corporation. In that moment, he truly hated himself. Aziraphale sighed miserably. 

“I’m soft.”

He looked at the ground, perfectly prepared to wallow in some self-pity, when he suddenly found the Archangel back in front of him and looked back up with a yelp.

“Almost forgot,” Gabriel said “According to our records, you were issued a flaming sword. You didn’t lose that?”

He gave Aziraphale an interrogative look.

_Right. So that’s what this meeting was really about. I knew this would come back to bite me one day._

Aziraphale chuckled, putting on an air of nonchalance.

“What, like I… I’d just give it away? Or something?”

Gabriel clapped him on both his arms, gave one of his smiles that didn’t quite reach his eyes, then turned away to continue with his workout.

Aziraphale stared after him, his brow frowned in worry. Why did Gabriel have to ask about the sword? Today of all days.

_Well, if I am to return to active service, I suppose I’m going to need one of those._

Aziraphale swallowed at the thought, not being able to shake the feeling that there was another meaning behind that question. Perhaps indicating that the Archangel was catching on to his little white lies… and some of his bigger ones too.

He gave one final sorrowful look towards the bandstand.

_I hope you’ve gotten away and are far away from this whole mess._

With a resigned sigh, Aziraphale turned around and began his journey back to his bookshop, contemplating his next course of action.

______

Crowley had been rather enjoying the silly cartoon. The cinema had been perfect for his depressed contemplating mind, with only a man, passed out, a few rows down from him for company. He had figured that he might be safe here. The technology wasn’t his. No reason for the demons to think he was here. Perfectly safe.

That was until the pink bunny in the cartoon lifted off his head to reveal a cartoon version of Hastur. An incredibly angry version of Hastur. Crowley had tried to appear nonchalant, going a bit too far with his quip about how Hastur smelled. That had been the final nail in his coffin.

“You’re dead meat, Crowley. You’re bloody history!” Hastur yelled at him before ripping out the throat of the bunny next to him. “Stay where you are. We’re coming to collect you!” 

_Not bloody likely!_

Crowley left promptly, handing his popcorn to a confused attendant before leaving the building.

_Right. Got to think fast here._

His first thought however wasn’t about going straight back to his flat, it was about going to Aziraphale. He couldn’t just leave without one more shot at convincing him to come with him.

Crowley’s blind optimism was ranging very close to insanity.

As he sped off towards the bookshop, his radio suddenly turned itself on and began to shout at him.

 ** _“Don’t even think about leaving you slimy little creep,”_ **Ligur snapped at him.

“Oh, hi Ligur!” Crowley responded cheerfully. “I didn’t know you’d started a career in radio presenting?” 

**_“Something’s gone wrong Crowley. It was your responsibility to deliver our Master’s son safely, so in conclusion, it’s all your fault. I’m sure you have a perfectly reasonable explanation for all this?”_ **

“Oh yeah. Perfectly reasonable. By the way, your radio voice needs work. Needs to be less doom and gloom.”

_“ **Can’t wait for you to explain it all to us. That’s if you can even speak after what we’re going to do to you!”**_

“Well, don’t tell me what you’re going to do. I want it to be a surprise.”

**_“No matter how racked with torment, no matter what agonies the lowest of the low are suffering, Crawley. You will have it worse.”_ **

“Aww no, now you’ve spoiled the surprise!”

_“ **Keep joking funny man. You won’t find this all so funny once we’re through with you.”**_

There was a scream, probably from some poor soul being tortured near Ligur, then the radio went silent.

“Shit. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, FUCK!”

Crowley’s foot pressed harder on the accelerator and tried and failed not to imagine the size of the spike they were going to shove up his jacksey. 

______________

A few disgruntled pedestrians had bumped into him on his journey back to the bookshop, but Aziraphale had paid them no mind, too busy being in planning mode. He needed to discuss all this with someone higher up. The highest of all, of course, being the Almighty.

The last time the Almighty had said anything to him had been back in the Garden. Asking about his flaming sword…

Well, it hadn’t been mentioned again and all had probably been forgiven. He hoped. He reasoned that if the Almighty was going to punish him for his absentmindedness, she would have surely done it by now! This was not the time to be a Doubting Thomas. He had to at least try! 

Aziraphale was just passing a drinking establishment, when out of the corner of his eye, he spotted an image on the television behind the bar that made him stop abruptly. He hurried inside while miracling the volume louder so he could hear before he could stop himself.

_“Scientists have pronounced themselves baffled by the appearance of the enormous sea creature, which the internet has begun to refer to as, ‘The Kraken’, after the sea beast of legend. It appears to be targeting whaling ships, according to a spokesman for the Japanese government.”_

“Looks like my wife when she wakes up in the morning!” a hefty, balding man at the bar announced to the group of men he was drinking with. They all roared with laughter as Aziraphale gave them a side-eyed glance of annoyance. If only they knew the seriousness of the situation. The angel was about to open his mouth to comment on the unwarranted attack on the man’s wife’s appearance, when his attention was drawn instead to a commotion outside. He headed back onto the street and looked in the direction of the noise. It was coming from the area around his bookshop. He cautiously headed towards it.

____

The Bentley pulled into an empty space near the bookshop and seconds later, Crowley was out of the car and running at full pelt towards the entrance. He banged on the door while shouting:

“Angel! Angel, open up! This is important! Please Angel!”

He took no notice of the number of human heads that were turning in his direction and instead looked through the letter box. He couldn’t see any sign of movement inside, or even sense the angel.

“Urgghh, where the Heaven are you?!” he growled

He stood back up and ran his hand through his hair in his frustration. The one time the angel wasn’t in his bloody bookshop! Crowley gave up and sprinted back to the Bentley with a snarl. As he pulled out of the space and rounded the corner of the bookshop he suddenly stopped the car with a screech of the tyres. There he was!

Aziraphale gazed at the Bentley with astonishment. What was he still doing here?! Why wasn’t Crowley somewhere safe?!

Crowley quickly got out of the car and hurried over to Aziraphale.

“Angel! I’m sorry. I apologise. Whatever I said I didn’t mean it. Work with me, I’m apologising here. Yes? Good. Get in the car.”

“What? No!”

Aziraphale couldn’t believe how foolish the demon was being.

“The forces of Hell have figured out it was my fault. But we can run away together. Alpha Centauri. Lots of spare planets up there. Nobody would even notice us.”

Crowley raised his hand to the sky as he spoke, not caring at all that he was pleading.

“Crowley, you’re being ridiculous. Look, I-I-I’m quite sure if I can just… just reach the right people, then I can get all this sorted out.”

“There aren’t any right people. There’s just God, moving in mysterious ways and not talking to any of us!”

“Well, yes, and that is why I’m going to have a word with the Almighty, and then the Almighty will fix it.”

Crowley couldn’t believe the angel’s stubbornness. He wanted to grab him and shake him. Or drag him into the car and drive him away to safety. The stupid idiot was going to get himself hurt if he carried on with his deluded beliefs.

“That won’t happen! You’re so clever. How can somebody as clever as you be so stupid?”

Aziraphale considered momentarily arguing back. Instead he decided to change track, he was tired of them being at odds with each other. With all the emotion he could muster, he instead replied with:

“I forgive you.”

Crowley was slightly taken aback by this response. The meaning behind what was just said was not entirely lost on him. The ‘I forgive you’ sounded a lot like ‘I love-‘

**_No._ **

Crowley couldn’t bear it. He was unwilling to consider that that’s what the angel was trying to convey. More likely he was just trying to be all angelic and ‘good’ towards him.

_“Unforgivable. That’s what I am.”_

Either way, he still wasn’t coming with him.

With an aggravated sigh, Crowley turned around and headed back to his Bentley, but he would be damned, again, if he’d let Aziraphale have the last word.

“I’m going home, Angel. I’m getting my stuff and I’m leaving. And when I’m off in the stars, I won’t even think about you!”

The demon dramatically slammed the door and sped off, not looking back at the heart-broken angel standing on the pavement. He looked so forlorn, that a passing stranger stopped to console him, having witnessed the last part of their exchange.

“I’ve been there. You’re better off without him.”

_Am I?_

Aziraphale stared back at the direction where the Bentley had gone and felt a burning desire to run after it. This couldn’t be their last interaction, it just couldn’t! He took a tentative step forward, then turned around and hurried to the front door of his bookshop. He was about to unlock the front door when he stopped. What was Crowley still doing here? The demon knew that Hell would be angry and come after him so why hadn’t he left after their exchange at the bandstand?

Aziraphale looked again in the direction that the Bentley had sped off in.

_Maybe I should have got in the car._

No. He needed to talk to someone higher up to stop all this. That would save everyone. Including Crowley.

_But what if Crowley had left it too late and the Dukes of Hell caught him? I should really help him get away first. It’s the least I can do._

Aziraphale turned away from his front door and quickly headed across the street in search of a taxi rank. After talking to Gabriel he was even more nervous about performing miracles and drawing too much attention to himself, so he couldn’t just transport himself to Crowley’s flat.

_But what if when I get there the Dukes of Hell are already at Crowley’s flat? What then? I may have to fight them to protect Crowley. How is that not drawing attention to myself?_

His pace slowed and he clasped his hands together in deep anxiety. Crowley had saved him many times before, despite it putting the demon at great risk. In terms of ‘rescues’, Aziraphale was in colossal debt to the demon. However, if he went to Crowley’s aid and Heaven found out, that would make it impossible for him to attempt to save the Earth and humanity.

_Oh, what and awfully difficult choice this is!_

He stared at the ground in deep deliberation, until three pairs of shoes appeared around him and a familiar voice addressed him.

“Hello, Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale snapped his head up in alarm and looked at each ethereal being in turn.

“Oh, Michael. Uriel. Sandalphon. Hello, erm…”

This was not good. Aziraphale could not recall the last time these three Archangels had visited earth together. He swallowed nervously as they crowded him, forcing his back to press into the side of the coffee shop he had been passing.

“We’ve just been learning some rather disturbing things about you,” Michael continued, keeping her voice calm and threatening at the same time. “You’ve been a bit of a fallen angel, haven’t you? Consorting with the enemy?”

_Ah. It’s finally happened. We’ve been caught. First the flaming sword and now this!_

“Oh, I-I-I haven’t been ‘consorting’.” Aziraphale attempted to defend himself.

“Don’t think your boyfriend in the dark glasses will get you special treatment in Hell,” Uriel said scathingly. “He’s in trouble too.”

Aziraphale’s stomach squirmed a little at this. Had his affection for the demon been that obvious? Had he given himself away in the last meeting? Why were they coming after him now?!

“Aziraphale,” Michael said, before Aziraphale could think of a defence for himself. “It’s time to choose sides.”

Aziraphale gave a small nod before replying, frantically searching for his courage.

“I’ve-I’ve actually been giving that a lot of thought. The, erm, whole choosing sides thing. Erm, what I think is that there obviously has to be two sides. That’s the whole point. So people can make choices. That’s… that’s what being human means. Choices. But… but that’s… that’s for them. Our jobs as… as angels should be to keep all this working so they can make choices.”

This speech, however, had no effect on the Archangels or the situation Aziraphale was in.

“You think too much,” Uriel stated darkly.

It was at that moment that Sandalphon chose to punch Aziraphale in the stomach. Hard. Harder than Aziraphale thought strictly necessary as he bent over in pain and groaned. He wasn’t overly surprised by this attack, why else would Sandalphon have come otherwise? Uriel roughly grabbed him and shoved him back up against the wall. Aziraphale’s reaction was in stark contrast compared to the last time he had been slammed into a wall. He was truly beginning to panic now.

“You… you mustn’t!” Aziraphale gasped out. “Why would you do this? We’re the good guys. I have to warn you that… that I’m going to take this entire interaction up with… up with… a higher authority!”

Michael and Sandalphon only looked at him with raised eyebrows while Uriel smirked during Aziraphale’s attempted threat.

“You really think upstairs will take your call?” Uriel questioned him disbelievingly. “You’re ridiculous,” she then hissed in his face. Then, miraculously for Aziraphale, he was saved by the bell. Or, in this case, The Horn of Gabriel, which sounded from above them, signifying the call to arms. Uriel let go of Aziraphale and stepped back until all three Archangels were in a line. 

“Oh, this is great. It’s starting.” Uriel addressed Aziraphale before she bent her knees with Michael and Sandalphon, and the three of them jumped up and vanished in a bright white light.

Aziraphale stared above him, hardly believing his luck and equally feeling incredibly put out by the way he had just been treated. His anger propelled him forward as he addressed the direction where the Archangels had vanished.

“You… you… bad angels!”

He momentarily considered using some stronger words to express his displeasure but controlled his urge to do so. He refused to let himself ruin his streak of not swearing for the past six thousand years on these heavenly beings. He adjusted his attire and contemplated what he was going to do now. He had only one choice really. There was no time to go and assist Crowley. He needed to speak to God.

_I do hope he’s alright and that he doesn’t have to use the… insurance I gave him._

As soon as his bow tie was back in its correct position, Aziraphale crossed back over to his bookshop and began his preparations without any further delay.

_____

The second that Crowley was back in his flat, he immediately got himself prepared for the battle ahead of him. He had exhausted all his other options, now it was time to use the ace in his deck.

Crowley had honestly hoped that it would never come to this. He had tried, again and again, to convince Aziraphale that it really was just as a last resort. He did understand the angel’s reservations, of course he did, but their, well, **_fraternising_** was dangerous, they both knew it. Crowley still wished that Aziraphale hadn’t called it **_fraternising_** though. That still cut deep.

Nevertheless, he had absolutely no time to think about that right now, or the second rejection he had just faced. He grabbed a red plastic bucket from under his sink, put it on top of his office desk and went to grab his black rubber apron. He checked his watch as he re-entered his office and headed straight for the portrait of the Mona Lisa, pulling it back to reveal a safe. He twiddled in the combination, opened the door, and there it was: the tartan-covered thermos flask. Crowley had often considered that Aziraphale had deliberately put it in something tartan, so that the demon would automatically think of the angel before he used it. Aziraphale certainly was sneaky enough to do something like that, on the other hand though, the angel simply did have a lot of tartan objects. Maybe it wasn’t an attempted association.

_Even if that wasn’t the intention, it’s what’s bloody happening now!_

Crowley hastily composed himself. This was going to be a difficult procedure.

He put on the elbow-length rubber gloves next to the thermos and, **_extremely tentatively_** , picked it up. He carried it at arm’s length to his desk and gingerly removed the cap. If he’d been able to sweat profusely, now would have been the moment to do so. He picked up the tongs and took a step back, wanting to be as far away from this next bit as demonically possible. With the help of the tongs, he carefully poured the holy water into the bucket. Crowley momentarily considered getting his plant mister and pouring some into that, to use as a gun. Well, water pistol. It was at that moment however that his doorbell rang.

“Crowley!” Hastur called from outside the flat.

Crowley glanced behind him and tipped the rest into the bucket. Out of time. This will have to do. Crowley looked around the room urgently. He was originally going to put the bucket by the front door, but it was too late for that. It would have to be the door to the office.

Crowley’s plan had been inspired by a Christmas film he had tried to force Aziraphale to watch with him years ago. Home Alone. If he’d spent more time planning, and less time moping, he would have happily set up an entire obstacle course for Hastur and Ligur to go through. Instead, he only had this bucket. Suddenly, he heard a slam as his front door was kicked open. Toeing the line very, very carefully between rushing and not rushing, Crowley picked up the bucket, carried it over to the door way, and balanced it at the top.

“Crowley!” he heard Hastur call again.

“We only want a little word with you,” Ligur chimed in, sounding very much like he was having too much fun.

Crowley hurried into his plant room to grab the plant mister. It was not filled with holy water of course, but maybe he could bluff if he needed to.

“We know you’re in there.”

“Crowley!”

If Crowley had a heartbeat, it would have been pounding madly by now. At least the weather was appropriate. The strong winds and rumbling thunder were perfect for a demonic showdown. He quickly pulled off the gloves and apron, sat down and inwardly channelled one of his favourite cinematic personalities: James Bond. He looked over to the door and spotted Ligur’s ugly features peering into the room. 

“In here people,” Crowley said, as cool and suave as he could muster.

Ligur pushed his way into the room and immediately started screaming in agony and surprise as the bucket fell perfectly onto his head. Crowley winced as he watched the plastic from the bucket melt and stick to Ligur’s face, before seconds later, Ligur had been completely destroyed, the only thing left being a bundle of clothes.

Hastur had begun to shriek at the sight and couldn’t seem to stop.

“Hi,” Crowley said to him, cursing inwardly that not even a single drop of the stuff had touched Hastur. Hastur continued to shriek as he entered the room and eventually managed to desist so he could form a panicky sentence. 

“That’s-that’s… that’s holy water! I can’t believe even a demon would-would-would… Holy water! That’s… that’s… but he hadn’t done nothing to you!”

“Yet,” Crowley responded, aiming the plant mister at Hastur.

“You… you don’t frighten me.”

“Do you know what this is?” Crowley asked standing up. “This is a plant mister. Cheapest and most efficient on the market today. It can squirt a fine spray of water into the air.” Crowley added his other hand to the hold before continuing. It made him feel more like he was holding a gun. “It’s filled with holy water. It can turn you, into that.”

He inclind his head to the smoking clothes that used to be Ligur and Hastur looked over too, some doubt creeping into his black eyes.

“You’re bluffing.”

“Maybe I am. Maybe I’m not. Ask yourself: do you feel lucky?”

Hastur squared up, with just the tiniest amount of uncertainty. Crowley would have completely gotten away with the deception, if the plant mister hadn’t at that moment leaked a tiny bit of water onto his bare hand.

“Yes. Do you?” Hastur of course noticed this and his attitude became confident again. He pointed at the plant mister which fell apart in Crowley’s hand.

“Ow!”

“Time to go, Crowley!”

Then Crowley was saved by the bell, or in this case, the ringing of his phone.

_Hey, this is Anthony Crowley. You know what to do. Do it with style._

“Don’t move!” Crowley commanded Hastur, the beginning of an idea starting to form. “There’s something very important you need to know, before you disgrace yourself.”

 **“I know where the Antichrist is!”** Aziraphale’s voice hurriedly sounded over the answering machine. Crowley quickly picked up the receiver. 

“Yeah, it’s not a good time. Got an old friend here.” He put the phone down and turned back to Hastur. “Well, you’ve definitely passed the test. You’re ready to start playing with the big boys.”

“What? You’re mad,” Hastur stated, rather confused.

“The Lords of Hell had to make sure you were trustworthy before we gave you command of the ‘Legions of the Damned’ in the war ahead.” Crowley couldn’t quite believe the rubbish that was coming out of his mouth, but amazingly it seemed to be working! He carried on with the flamboyancy of a TV presenter and jumped onto his throne. “And, Hastur, Duke of Hell, you’ve come through with flying colours!” He gave the Duke of Hell a cheeky point of the finger.

“Me?” Hastur replied, getting rather excited now.

“Now, I-I wouldn’t expect you to believe me, Duke Hastur. But, why don’t we talk to the Dark Council? Let’s see if they can convince you.” Crowley pulled out his phone and began to dial.

“You’re calling the Dark Council?”

“Yes, I am. And they say, SO LONG SUCKER!” 

Crowley hissed like a snake and stuck out his tongue in his exuberance, before dissolving in size and structure and went into the telephone system. Which turned out to be, loads of fun!

Crowley travelled through twenty miles of internet in less than a second, whooping for joy as he did so.

“Crowley!”

Hastur had joined him. Crowley had a comfortable lead of course, but would have to time his next step very carefully in order to get away.

“You can’t escape me! Wherever you come out, I’ll come out too!”

_Here we go!_

“Three, two, one!” Crowley counted down before re-materialising back in his office and quickly turning on his outgoing message tape.

“You hear me? Crowley! Where are you, you little runt? I heard your voice. You and your best friend Aziraphale, you’re dead meat! Where am I? Don’t leave me here. Oh, no. Oh no you wouldn’t! You wouldn’t dare, you… you SNAKE!”

Hastur was now trapped in Crowley’s antique telephone machine. Crowley turned off the tape so he couldn’t hear Hastur’s wrath and laughed in celebration.

He’d done it. He’d actually done it!

He grabbed his phone and made a dash for the door, being careful not to go anywhere near Ligur’s remains as he did so. 

_Now Aziraphale tells me he knows where the Antichrist is! What’s changed his mind?_

His optimism fully back in place, and a gut feeling of:

_We might just get through this after all!_

Crowley phoned Aziraphale back as he took his lift to the bottom floor.

______

Aziraphale, meanwhile, had contacted the Metatron. Not quite the Almighty, but the ‘voice’ of the Almighty would have to do! He had pulled back his circular rug, revealing a cabalistic circle full of enochian symbols and began to light seven candles ritualistically around it. As he started to pray, there was a knock at the door despite his closed sign. Aziraphale shouted to confirm that the sign was indeed correct, while hoping that it wasn’t those two horrible men back to cause more trouble. Once contact had been established he relayed his findings, declaring that there was no need for anyone to go to war.

_“THE POINT IS NOT TO AVOID THE WAR. THE POINT IS TO WIN IT.”_

That was it, the final straw. Aziraphale could feel his faith slipping away from him. He had forgotten about ineffability, clearly.

Crowley had been right. Of course Crowley had been right! What was he doing? He should be helping the demon, instead he was talking to a giant floating head about a topic that Aziraphale was never going to successfully change their minds on.

_“So we’re agreed then. No giving up. Work together. Prevent the end of the world.”_

Aziraphale quickly attempted to wrap up the conversation while glancing over to his phone, desperate to talk to Crowley.

_“THE BATTLE COMMENCES, AZIRAPHALE. JOIN US!”_

“In a jiffy. Two shakes of a lamb’s tail. Just a-a couple of things left to tie up.”

“ _WE WILL LEAVE THE GATEWAY OPEN FOR YOU THEN. DO NOT DAWDLE.”_

The Metatron faded away.

“Yes. Jolly… jolly good.”

He moved around the circle carefully and headed straight over to his phone.

_Oh, I hope I’m not too late and he’s alright!_

As the phone began to ring, Aziraphale thought he could hear a strange, scraping noise coming from his front door. Confused, he looked towards it, but turned his head back immediately when he heard Crowley’s voice.

“Hello. I know where the Anti-”

**“ _Hey, this is Anthony Crowley. You know what to do. Do it with style.”_**

“Well, I know who you are you idiot. I telephoned you!”

Aziraphale had never really liked that outgoing message and was feeling rather snappy in his agitation.

“Listen, I know where the Antichrist is!”

 **“Yeah, it’s not a good time. Got an old friend here.”** Crowley answered quickly then hung up on him.

“But-” Aziraphale began to argue, but was interrupted by an angry Scottish drawl from behind him and dropped the phone in his shock.

“You foul fiend! In league with the forces of darkness!”

“Sergeant Shadwell?”

“You monster! Seducing women to do your evil will.”

“Oh, I think perhaps you’ve got the wrong shop.”

“You are possessed by a demon, and I will exorcise you with bell, book and candle.”

The Sergeant started to look around for the first of the items that he had convinced himself that he needed. The man was talking absolute rot, and Aziraphale was seriously considering withdrawing his patronage after this. Firstly, however, he had more pressing issues, such as keeping the Sergeant as far away from the circle as possible. If he entered it, it would kill him.

“Yes, er, fine,” Aziraphale began, hurrying forward. “But, please, keep away from the circle. It’s-it’s still powered up!”

Shadwell was not listening however. He’d found the bell on Aziraphale check out desk and pointed at it.

“Bell,” he said simply before walking over to ding it.

“I’m honestly not a demon! I-I don’t know what you think you saw, but-”

“Book,” Shadwell interrupted, picking up The Nice and Accurate Prophecies and chucking it to the side.

“Please, you-you-you must keep away from the circle,” Aziraphale begged, putting himself directly between Shadwell and the circle. Shadwell reached into his coat pocket and produced a lighter which he flicked on.

“Practically a candle,” the man announced, looking very smug with himself. Shadwell began to recite his ‘exorcism’ while Aziraphale pleaded with him frantically.

“… don’t cross the circle, you stupid man!”

“…evil, returning no more!”

Shadwell pointed his finger at Aziraphale like a gun whilst Aziraphale looked down in horror. The angel had crossed the circle.

Then Aziraphale swore for the first time in six thousand years.

“Oh… fuck!”

He was lifted up to Heaven surrounded by a bright white light, then vanished.

____

The Sergeant had left pretty quickly after that, and everything could have been fine if the weather hadn’t at that moment been a torrential downpour with strong winds. Some of that wind knocked over one of Aziraphale’s candles, which rolled over to the nearest source of paper and instantly started a fire in the bookshop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always comments are appreciated. I really do appreciate the lovely comments I've gotten so far, reading them makes me so so happy <3


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Took a bit of a break from writing this because of all the craziness happening in the world right now. But I've finally manged to get back in the zone so here's the next instalment. Hope you like it and everyone is doing ok <3

Chapter 7- Episode: The Doomsday Option

Crowley was seriously starting to worry now.

He had called Aziraphale in the lift, no answer. Had called him while getting into the Bentley, still no answer. This wasn’t like the angel.

_He had sounded agitated on the phone. Has something happened?_

Crowley raced over to the bookshop as the Bentley played a different Queen song.

_Oh, you're the best friend that I ever had_ _  
I've been with you such a long time  
You're my sunshine and I want you to know  
That my feelings are true  
I really love you  
Oh, you're my best friend_

The gut feeling that everything was going to be ok was starting to feel a little wobbly. His jubilation at the escape from the clutches of Hell was diminishing fast, and the familiar feeling of anxiety was back doing somersaults in the pit of his stomach. Clenching his jaw tightly, he tried Aziraphale again as he overtook a bus and avoided an oncoming taxi at the same time. Still nothing.

_I have a bad feeling about this…_

It was at that moment that he spotted and smelt the smoke in the distance. Exactly in the direction he was heading.

_Please don’t let it be the bookshop. No. No, it can’t be the bookshop._

Sirens were blaring all around him, matching the ones in Crowley’s mind. He rounded the corner and saw that his fear was completely correct. Releasing the accelerator in his horror, he pulled up next to the burning building, to the place which held so many happy memories, the place he’d considered home…

He hastily got out of the Bentley and was accosted by one of the fire fighters nearest to him.

“Are you the owner of this establishment?” the man asked him.

“Do I look like I run a bookshop?!” Crowley snapped back, continuing to the front door.

“Oi! You can’t go in-”

Crowley heard no more as he’d already clicked open the door and was inside the blazing nightmare.

“Aziraphale!” he yelled frantically as he ran forward. “Aziraphale, where the Heaven are you, you idiot?! I can’t find you!”

This couldn’t be happening. Absolutely everything was up in flames. The sofa he’d sprawled across on many a drunken evening, the desk he had watched the angel sit at and pour over thick tomes with his nose inches away from the paper. He could faintly hear the gramophone playing a very distorted Schubert string quintet as the vinyl melted in the sweltering heat. Or perhaps that was just in his imagination, as it was hard to actually focus with the pounding in his ears from the panic that was suffocating him.

Crowley spun around wildly, desperate to feel Aziraphale’s presence as his whole world crumbled around him.

“Aziraphale, for God’s… for Satan’s… ah for SOMEBODY’S sake, WHERE ARE YOU?”

It was at that moment that a jet of water from a fire fighter’s hose blasted through a window and hit Crowley fully in the chest, sending him backwards unceremoniously onto the ash- and paper- covered floor.

The full reality of the situation then completely dawned on Crowley. He sat up shakily and pulled his glasses, which had smashed during the onslaught of water, off his face.

They had finally run out of time. There was nothing left to savour.

“Yeah… you’ve gone.” Crowley moaned helplessly.

The last thing Crowley had said face to face with the angel had been in anger, right after Aziraphale had told him in his own way that he cared for Crowley. That he loved him…

At least that’s what it had sounded like to Crowley.

_I should have said. I should have told him. Instead the last memory I’m going to have of him is the hurt in his eyes as I told him instead I wouldn’t even think about him!_

Crowley’s grief turned instantly into rage.

“Somebody killed my best friend!” Crowley roared into the inferno surrounding him.

The panicky voice, the anxious and paranoid mannerisms of yesterday… someone had been threatening Aziraphale. Tailing him. Eventually destroying him. That’s what must have happened. If Crowley hadn’t been wrapped up in his own problems he would have paid more attention. Would have protected him. Should have.

Had it been Heaven or Hell?

_Does it even matter now?_

“BASTARDS!” Crowley screamed. “ALL OF YOU!”

He needed to save something. He couldn’t just leave all of Aziraphale’s precious books to the flames. He owed the angel that much.

He knew exactly which book he wanted to keep. Northern Lights. The book Aziraphale had talked his ear off about on their final evening together. His final time in the bookshop, he realised. If only Crowley could go back to that evening. He would have cherished every moment of that night. Every passionate word the angel had said, every quirk, every glint in Aziraphale’s eye and every excited wiggle of his body as he’d got to a particularly exciting moment in the narrative. The demon would have sat closer and put his arm around the angel, holding him close, not wanting to let go. He would have savoured each bloody moment!

Crowley stared at the last location he had seen the book, Aziraphale’s desk, but it was now engulfed in flames.

_Yep, that seems about right._

Crowley gloomily looked around and picked up the nearest book to him that was still readable.

THE NICE AND ACCURATE PROPHECIES by AGNES NUTTER

It was a bit singed around the edges, but it would do as a souvenir.

A horrible thought suddenly interrupted Crowley’s misery.

_Is this because I questioned her? Because I’d threatened her?_

The demon looked upwards, toward the floor above him that showed signs that it would collapse soon, and addressed God for the third time today.

“Is this because I asked questions again?” he asked distraughtly. “Haven’t you already punished me enough? Did you have to destroy the one good angel you had? The angel that I…”

Crowley choked on the last word and looked back down with his eyes screwed tightly shut.

Of course, there was no response from above.

Despite his corporation pleading with him not to, Crowley got up unsteadily. He was beginning to feel strange. Almost numb. He placed his broken glasses back onto his face, to retain some part of his normal demeanour, and looked over at the front door. It opened wide for him and the demon stepped out of the crumbling bookshop. As the door slammed shut behind him, he realised what a mistake he’d made putting his glasses back on. They were a clear indication of his fragile state. He pulled them off his face, held them in front of him and regarded them.

“I shouldn’t litter, should I?” Crowley pondered out loud. “I mean; I probably should litter. I’m a demon, after all. But nobody’s really keeping score anymore…”

He dropped them casually and sauntered over to the Bentley. Crowley could feel the loss threatening to overcome him, but he was going to at least wait until he was out of sight of the humans that were staring at him in horror and astonishment. The one thing he had left was his pride.

He placed the book onto the passenger’s seat and began to drive away. As he rounded the corner of the bookshop there was an explosion that nearly sent the Bentley into the building opposite.

_Well, there goes the upper floor._

The numbness was starting to fade and Crowley began to feel tears welling up in the corners of his eyes. He gripped the steering wheel tightly as the Bentley played a different Queen song, quieter than normal.

_A hand above the water_ _  
An angel reaching for the sky  
Is it raining in heaven  
Do you want us to cry?_

_No. Not this song. Not now._

_And everywhere the broken-hearted_ _  
On every lonely avenue  
No one could reach them  
No one but you_

Crowley felt his lip begin to wobble and hastily reached into the compartment where he kept his spare glasses. He opened them up with his teeth and brutally put them on, to hide his shame. It had been just in time too, as he felt the first tear escape his eye.

_One by one_ _  
Only the good die young  
They're only flying too close to the sun  
And life goes on  
Without you_

“Why the Heaven… didn’t… didn’t you just get in the car?” Crowley spluttered, struggling to speak while holding back his tears. “We could… could have been in Alpha Centauri …”

Finally, a sob broke through and Crowley stopped resisting the inevitable tide of anguish. His body shook as tears rolled down his face like a tsunami. Flustered, he pulled over sharply into a space on his left and lowered his head while still gripping the steering wheel tightly. He didn’t care if people could see him like this, he didn’t care if Hell could see him like this and he didn’t even care that the world was ending in a few hours. Nothing mattered anymore.

Crowley snarled loudly and flung his head back until it hit the headrest behind him. Then without warning, he lifted his hands off the steering wheel, flung them back down in a rage and howled. Some pedestrians nearby jumped at the sound and very quickly turned around and walked the other way. Once he had relatively controlled his temper and his tears had become a trickle instead of a waterfall, Crowley gritted his teeth and looked over to the building he’d parked next to. A pub.

“Well, it’s as good a place as any to spend the next few hours.”

Crowley picked up his souvenir despondently, got out of the Bentley, and headed into the pub to drink as much whiskey as he could before Armageddon began. 

______

Something felt wrong.

Granted, it had been a while since Aziraphale had used a transportation portal, but he did not remember it feeling this uncomfortable.

Then suddenly, he had arrived. He stumbled upon impact and fought to retain his balance. Immediately he felt a sharp pain in his stomach and pressed his hand to it. Must have been from the punch that Sandalphon and given him earlier.

_Well, that journey certainly knocked me for six!_

Aziraphale looked up and took in his surroundings. Mercifully, he appeared to be alone. Perhaps he could attempt to sneak away back to Earth...

“You! You’re late.”

_Ah. Of course I’m not alone._

Aziraphale turned around promptly to respond.

“Yes! Um… Actually, I-”

Aziraphale had started to take a step forward when a sharp pain appeared on the top of his right leg, shocking him momentarily into silence.

_What is happening to me?_

He continued forward tentatively and was relieved that the pain gradually subsided with every step.

“I-I didn’t mean to be here…um, yet. Still sorting things out… on Earth.”

Aziraphale gestured to the spinning structure of the Earth in the middle of the room as he passed it with a small smile.

“Aziraphale, isn’t it? Principality, Angel of the Eastern Gate. Your whole platoon is waiting for you!”

The Quartermaster that was addressing Aziraphale shoved a bundle of military uniform into his arms. Aziraphale regarded it with distaste, then looked behind the Quartermaster at the line of angels, already suited up.

_They’re expecting me to lead a platoon! Is this Gabriel’s doing? Wanting to humiliate me when he suspects that I don’t have my flaming sword anymore?_

The Quartermaster continued with his paperwork in front of him, then stopped and pondered.

“Aziraphale,” he muttered to himself. “Aziraphale… why is that name so familiar?”

Aziraphale attempted to look baffled and innocent as the Quartermaster flicked through some more papers.

“Hang on. Aziraphale. You were issued with-”

“A flaming sword, I know,” Aziraphale cut him off. There was no point denying it anymore. “It’s not my fault. She was having a very bad day.”

“You were issued with a body! Where is it?”

_My body…_

Aziraphale looked down at his hand and took in his visage properly. He turned over his hand and saw to his horror that it went see-through.

_Well, that explains why I felt so strange._

“Ah… I’m afraid I hadn’t actually prepared to step into the transportation portal, you see. And the body… discorporated.”

“Discorporated?”

“It was six thousand years old.”

This was incredibly inconvenient for Aziraphale. Of all the times he could have been discorporated, this was the absolute worst moment for it to happen. To get his body back would take time and a large amount of paperwork. None of which anyone would be able to do at this very moment. Aziraphale tried not to feel any ill-will towards Sergeant Shadwell, but really, the man was an imbecile!

The Quartermaster frowned at him and moved around his desk, fury etched all over his features. Aziraphale braced himself for the onslaught.

“I count them all out, and I count them all in again. And then you turn up, late for Armageddon, no flaming sword, NOT EVEN A BODY YOU PATHETIC EXCUSE FOR AN ANGEL!”

Aziraphale took it on the chin, but then felt a fury of his own starting to rise. He was fed up of being spoken to like this, especially after everything he had already experienced today. Perhaps he wasn’t perfect in his duties as an angel, but really, it hardly mattered now. Not when he needed to get back to Earth. Back to Crowley. To the one being that truly mattered to him and sort this whole shambles out!

“Well, I suppose I am, really. I mean…” he glanced between the other angles and the Quartermaster and resolutely made a stand. “I have no intention of fighting in any war!”

Aziraphale placed his military garments back on the desk firmly, as the other angels all turned in unison to stare at him shock. The Quartermaster looked disgusted.

“Don’t be a coward!” Then the Quartermaster glanced uneasily behind him, before edging closer to Aziraphale and lowering his voice. “You get into position, right now, and I won’t say anything more about the body you discorporated. We can take the sword out of your celestial wages.”

Aziraphale, however, had had enough and was determined to stand up for himself for once, despite feeling a little self-conscious with the angels all staring at him.

“I was in the middle of something important. I demand to be returned!”

“Without a body?” the Quartermaster scoffed, returning to his desk. “That’s ridiculous.”

“It is?” Aziraphale asked slowly, remnants of an idea starting to form.

“Obviously. What are you going to do? You can’t possess them.”

“Demons can,” Aziraphale declared and began to head over to the large spinning model of the Earth, pondering his plan as he went.

“You’re not a demon, you’re an angel. What are you…? Where are you going?”

Aziraphale stopped in front of the globe, deliberating.

_It’s what Crowley would do._

“How does one navigate?” Aziraphale asked, turning back to the Quartermaster who was looking at him like he was dangerous and mad.

_Well, maybe I am a bit._

But it was his only option, so Aziraphale turned back and lifted his hand up towards England. 

“Oh, well-”

“Get away from that thing!” the Quartermaster yelled, attempting to regain control.

“I’ll figure it out… as I go.” He touched the spot he wanted to go, and with a final look behind him at the life he was abandoning, he was sucked into the Earth.

Aziraphale couldn’t help but whoop at the experience. It was actually rather fun.

_Aziraphale, concentrate. This is no time to play silly beggars._

The angel focused on where he wanted to go. Which was obviously to his demon. He pictured Crowley and concentrated hard on that image as he fell back to Earth.

_______

“Same again!” Crowley drawled, holding out an empty bottle in the direction of the bar. The bartender sighed quietly, but relented and picked up another bottle and placed it on Crowley’s table.

Crowley had already had two full bottles of Talisker. Straight from the bottle too, despite been given a glass with the first one. He had finished the first bottle in one go and had instantly started swaying in his seat. Halfway through the second bottle is when he’d started talking to himself. Many people had begun to look over at him by this point, however, since they were predominantly British, instead of saying anything, they decided to avoided eye contact, and ignore the crazy drunk man sitting by himself at midday on a Saturday afternoon. Crowley had babbled and wept intermittently over Heaven and Hell, crepes, books, films and music. Listing all the things he had wanted to share with the angel, which now he would never be able to do. By the end of the second bottle he had started singing the theme to Star Wars.

“I never asked to be a demon!” Crowley was now saying to the bartender who was already walking back to the bar. He really should have cut Crowley off by now, but something in his mind was telling him that it was fine.

The lack of response didn’t deter Crowley, who, after trying to drink from the empty glass he hadn’t used, carried on with his drunken rambling.

“I was just minding my own business one day and then… oh, lookie here, it’s Lucifer and the guys. Oh, hey, the food hadn’t been that good lately. I didn’t have anything on for the rest of that afternoon. Next thing, I’m doing a million-light-year freestyle dive into a pool of boiling sulphur.”

Crowley picked up the third bottle whilst trying not to think about how unbearable that had been. He considered momentarily reverting to his snake form, once he’d finished this bottle, to cause some havoc before the end of days. Crowley started life on this planet as a snake, it was fitting really to end his time here as a snake too.

_Just like the demon I was supposed to be._

He was in the process of unscrewing the bottle top when he saw something that made him pause, hardly daring to believe what he was seeing in front of him.

“Aziraphale?”

It certainly looked like the angel, except that he appeared blurry and see-through. No doubt it was a drunken hallucination, but even if that’s all it was, Crowley was definitely not going to ignore it. 

“Are you here?” the demon asked, lifting up his glasses so he could see more clearly and squinted gawkily.

“Good question. Not certain. Never done this before,” Aziraphale replied.

It was bizarre, all Aziraphale could see was a multi-coloured thick cloud swirling around him. He could certainly sense Crowley through the haze however and was overjoyed at hearing his voice.

“Can you hear me?” Aziraphale asked uncertainly.

Crowley let his glasses fall back into place. He still wasn’t entirely convinced that this was real, but boy, he really hoped it was.

“’Course I can hear you!”

“Afraid I’ve rather made a mess of things.”

Now that he was back, sort of, Aziraphale felt that some sort of an apology was in order for his recent behaviour. However, he could not think of the right words to express his sorrow, so instead he asked:

“Did you go to Alpha Centauri?”

“Nah, changed my mind. Stuff happened. I lost my best friend…”

Crowley’s voice broke as his anguish washed over him all over again and he was unable to continue.

_Please let this actually be him. I can’t lose him again._

Aziraphale, meanwhile, was stunned by the raw emotion in Crowley’s voice. The demon had to be referring to him, but he hadn’t lost Aziraphale…

_Is this because I wouldn’t run away with him? Had he thought that he’d lost me forever? Oh, Crowley…_

Aziraphale wished he could comfort the demon, put a hand over his to reassure him that he would never abandon him again. But, Aziraphale had no idea where Crowley was in relation to him, and already this whole exchange was becoming quite overwhelming.

“I’m so sorry to hear it,” Aziraphale replied instead, his own voice faltering with heartbreak. 

“Listen, um, back in my bookshop there’s a book I need you to get.” Aziraphale wasn’t sure how long he could last here without a body, so they had better get down to business. 

Crowley winced inwardly.

_He doesn’t know._

“Oh, look, your bookshop isn’t there anymore.”

“Oh?”

“I’m really sorry. It burned down.”

Crowley watched Aziraphale’s face as this information sunk in. It was horrible. Crowley was desperate to make it right. To fix it somehow. There was a lengthy pause as Aziraphale processed the loss. It was so massive that the angel had no idea how to respond.

“All of it?” he asked hopelessly.

“Y-y-yeah. What… what was the book?”

“The one the young lady with the bicycle left behind,” Aziraphale sighed sadly. “The Nice and Accurate Prophecies-”

“-of Agnes Nutter! Yes, I took it!”

Crowley, overjoyed that he had somehow picked the right book to save, and in his desire to make the angel happy, picked up the book and pointed to it excitedly, unaware that Aziraphale couldn’t see him. 

“You have it?! Oh-”

“-Look, souvenir!”

“-Look inside. I made notes. It’s all in there. The boy’s name, address. Everything else. I worked it all out.”

As Crowley looked through the book, Aziraphale felt a wave of relief wash over him. Firstly, that his work hadn’t gone to waste, and secondly that he could finally confess to Crowley what he’d discovered and that they could work together again.

“Look, wherever you are, I’ll come to you. Where are you?”

“I-I-I’m not really anywhere yet. I’ve been discorporated.”

“Oh.”

“You need to get to Tadfield Air Base.”

“W-why?”

“World ending. That’s where it’s all going to happen. Quite soon now. I’ll head there too. I just need to find a receptive body. Harder than you think.”

It was a perfectly innocent statement, and an accurate one, but Crowley’s drunken mind was going down a slightly less innocent route…

“I’m not going to go there,” Crowley told himself out loud.

“I do need a body. Pity I can’t inhabit yours!” Aziraphale joked.

“Urggh.”

Crowley’s face was starting to heat up as he tried to not look at the risqué images that were happening in his mind. He pulled a face to play along with the joke.

“Angel, demon… probably explode,” Aziraphale continued smiling, completely oblivious to the demon’s squirming.

“Blehh.”

“So, I’ll meet you at Tadfield. But we’re both going to have to get a bit of a wiggle on.”

“What?”

“Tadfield. Air base!” Aziraphale called back as he began to fade away.

“I heard that! It was the ‘wiggle on’.”

Aziraphale, however, had vanished, so Crowley drunkenly leaned back and threw his arms out slightly, indicating his annoyance at the rude departure. He looked down at the information he had about the Antichrist, but it just swam in front of his eyes.

“Hmm, better sober up,” Crowley mused. “Urgggh, this is not going to be fun.”

Crowley shut his eyes and clenched his entire body. The bartender watched in amazement as the empty Talisker bottles filled back up. Once he was done, Crowley groaned at the after taste and pulled a face. He looked down at the book, which he was now able to read perfectly, then back to the spot where Aziraphale had vanished. A large grin spread across his face, then he leant his head back and gave a bark of laughter.

“I don’t believe it!” Crowley cried, ecstatically. “He’s not dead! Well, he is discorporated, but let’s focus on the positives.” Everyone in the bar was now staring at him as Crowley, still grinning madly, picked up the bottles of Talisker and placed them on the bar.

“Sorry about causing a scene mate,” Crowley cheerfully said to the bartender, who had backed away from him and had his back pressed against the workspace behind the bar. “Bit of a blip, but I’m back now. Just gonna quickly save the world, no need to thank me and my friend.”

Crowley did some finger guns at the man, then turned and sauntered to the exit, before realising he’d left the book behind and turned back to his table.

“Oops, gonna need this!” Crowley waved it in the air before heading out, giving a loud ‘whoop’ as he went, not caring that the British public had completely forgotten their manners and were gawking open mouthed at him.

Crowley flamboyantly opened the door to the Bentley, and flung himself in.

“Right. Back to work.”

Crowley started the engine as a classical track blasted through the Bentley.

“The Devil’s Gallop? Very appropriate,” Crowley snorted as he sped towards the M25. 

_________

Aziraphale was struggling to find a suitable body to inhabit.

On his first attempt, he’d ended up in Haiti. Which of course was too far away from the action. He got closer with his second attempt in America. He had wasted a bit of time correcting the so-called Christian TV personality on his inaccuracies regarding the rapture, but he had ended up on television, which had been exciting. 

_This is a lot harder than I thought it would be! Demons make it look so easy!_

He tried again.

_Third time lucky. That’s the saying, isn’t it?_

Except in this case, it was not.

It was never a pleasant experience for either Aziraphale or the host. For the angel, it felt like trying to force shoes onto your feet that were a size too small for you, except for your whole body. From the hosts’ point of view, well, let’s just say it is a very peculiar feeling having a celestial being attempting to share your body and mind, and it is no wonder really that there is an awful lot of flatulence involved. 

Eventually, after a lot of squirming the host opened their eyes, and Aziraphale could see his surroundings. They were both staring up at a stone ceiling and panting heavily. There was a sharp pain on the back of the head, complimenting the existing bump on the front of the head.

“I am very sorry if I’ve caused any more damage to your cranium. Please, do forgive me, but could you tell me where I am?”

“Woah!” came a voice from their right.

Aziraphale sat them up to see who had spoken. In the room were two young women, both dressed in dark red hooded cloaks, staring in awe at Aziraphale and whomever he had possessed. A quick glance around and Aziraphale could see that he was in some kind of basement, which had been sparsely decorated with satanic symbolism. Taking in their appearance, Aziraphale could see the host was also dressed in a dark red cloak and they appeared to be sitting on what the angel recognised as a ‘Devils Trap’, which had been drawn on the ground with chalk.

_Ah. This is really not a suitable environment for me to be in._

“But... I didn’t summon anything... I haven’t even started yet!” the other women stuttered astonished. She had light brown skin and dark brown tight curls poked out from under her hood. She held a heavy book in her hands, which no doubt contained instructions on summoning demons, and other such likes. 

“All I did was cross the circle to grab some ‘oly water...” Aziraphale heard himself saying groggily whilst rubbing the back of their shared head.

_Hang on, I recognise that voice..._

“Excuse me young man, but do I know you?”

“This is so cool!” the first woman said as she took a step closer and lowered her hood, her pale features etched with excitement.

“Why would I know you- ‘ang on! Mr Fell?!”

Stan got quickly to his feet as Aziraphale recognized the expensive trainers that had entered his shop yesterday. 

“What-‘ow are you doing this?!”

“Wait, you know this demon?” asked the excited girl with long black hair and a nose ring.

“I didn’t know ‘e was a demon when I first met ‘im!” Stan protested

“I am not a demon! Why do people keep thinking that I am a demon today?”

“Well, probably because you just possessed someone at a demon summoning,” the other woman holding the book said sardonically. Aziraphale didn’t care for her tone much, but regardless attempted to be polite, albeit, practically through gritted teeth. 

“Astute observation, Miss…?”

“We don’t use our real names here. I go by Abaddon. This is Lilith, and the new boy you’re in has called himself Loki.”

“Why Loki?”

“I’m a Marvel fan, all right fam! ‘e’s a bad-ass villain.”

Aziraphale knew this was only a half-truth; he could sense the real reason, that being that Stan related a lot to this character. A younger brother, dismissed by the father who favoured the elder, desperate to prove himself worthy and to become the leader that his brother was not.

“Oi! Did you just read my thoughts?!”

“I am sorry dear boy, it’s very hard not to when we’re this closely connected.”

“This is really freaky,” Lilith said. “You’re two people, in one body!”

“Instead of the demon taking over completely and being in control! That’s fascinating!” Abaddon chimed in, standing next to Lilith so she could take a closer look at the possession.

“I already told you, I’m not a demon!”

“Is this the one you wanted to summon Loki?” asked Lilith, ignoring Aziraphale’s protest.

“Nah, it was a different guy. Red ‘air, steam punk glasses, dressed all in black.”

_How on earth does he know about Crow- Wait! Don’t say his name!_

“Don’t you dare try and summon him! He’s very busy right now, trying to avert the Apocalypse! As am I as a matter of fact-”

“Apocalypse? What are you on about?” Lilith asked, looking confused but still somehow excited by the prospect. “Are there going to be zombies?”

“Don’t listen to him! Demon’s always lie,” Abaddon told her seriously.

“I’m not a demon! I’m an angel!”

“Yeah, whatever. Angels don’t exist,” Abaddon scoffed.

“But, if demons exist, we have to exist too! We’re from the same original stock! Why are some humans so ready to believe that demons exist over a- Oh, this isn’t important right now, just don’t try and summon him, all right?”

“I can’t without a name anyway,” Abaddon muttered, irritated it seemed by the notion that angels existed. She turned her attention back to her book, angrily flipping through the pages. 

“You nearly thought ‘is name just now!” Stan declared to the group. “It began with a C!”

_Drat. It works both ways._

Abaddon snapped her head back up from the book, as Lilith looked hopefully at them.

“I am not going to tell you his name,” Aziraphale told her, scandalised.

“Why are you so protective of him? He your boyfriend or something?” Lilith mocked him slyly.

“I am not going to dignify that with a response.”

“I knew you were gay!” Stan interjected triumphantly.

“Hmm, a ‘Gay Lord’ I believe you called me.”

Abaddon looked horrified at this information as Lilith crossed her arms and glared at them disapprovingly.

“Not cool dude,” Lilith scolded. “Two of my best mates are gay and they have to put up with this homophobic bullshit all the time.”

Aziraphale detected a genuine feeling of guilt from Stan.

_Well, that’s promising at least!_

“Yeah, you’re right. I’m sorry fam, all right? I didn’t really mean it- ‘ang on! You were just mocking ‘im for ‘aving a demon boyfriend!” Stan pointed at Lilith. “’ow’s that not ‘omophobic?”

“I was teasing him! Like you do with toddlers when they say they have a friend of the opposite sex. Although… that’s kind of homophobic in a way… assuming they’re straight…”

“Can we get back to the demon possession, please?” Abaddon exclaimed exasperatedly.

“ ** _Angel_** possession!” Aziraphale corrected her.

“Angel possession. Whatever!”

“Anyway fam, sorry for calling you that, and for messing up your bookshop.”

“And for burning it down?” Aziraphale asked angrily, a realisation of what must have happened to his home.

“Wait, what?” Stan asked shocked.

“I suppose it was you and your ghastly brother who burned down my… my bookshop…”

“Oh shit. It actually burned down? Fam, I’m really, really sorry. I didn’t want to burn it down, ‘onest!”

“You burned down his shop?!” Abaddon cried, glancing fervently over to the candles that had been placed on some form of satanic alter.

“So you’re a homophobe and an arsonist!” Lilith snapped. “I’m so sorry… Mr Fell was it? Ab and I would never have let him join our club if we’d known about this!”

“I didn’t do it! We thought about it Mr Fell, but we changed our minds! Come on, fam, you’d know if I was lying! You’re in me!”

“Oo-er!” Lilith could not help but interject with a smirk.

Aziraphale found to his astonishment that Stan was indeed, not lying.

“You’re right, you are telling the truth…” Aziraphale muttered, wondering how the shop could have burned down otherwise…

“I’m actually thinking of becoming a firefighter,” Stan continued to defend himself. “Once I’ve found out more about your friend, it’s why I’m ‘ere, wearing this stupid thing!”

“They are not stupid!” Abaddon snapped.

“They’re cool!” Lilith said while placing a reassuring hand on Abaddon’s shoulder.

“Speaking of my friend, I really should be helping him, and I’m hardly going to be able to do that in here… where am I by the way? I assume we’re in London.”

“Not quite. This is Lavenham in Suffolk. We’re in Ab’s **_super_** religious parents’ basement. They go out on Saturday afternoons to the golf club-”

“Shut up Lilith!

“Ah, that’s no good. I’ll have to find a different body closer to the action. So if you’ll excuse me-”

“Crowley!” Stan suddenly yelled. “‘e just thought ‘is name! It’s Crowley. Thanks fam!”

_Bugger._

Abaddon’s eyes lit up and quickly looked in her book to find the right incantation.

“No, no please don’t summon him. I forbid it!” 

“Now, that sounds exactly like my parents! You can’t do this, you can’t do that ‘cus God forbids it! I don’t listen to them, and I’m certainly not going to listen to you!”

“Oh believe me young lady, I understand your frustration at that attitude more than you think. But this is not the way to rebel against your parents!” 

Aziraphale hurried forward to grab the book from Abaddon, who then shrieked in fright and backed away, holding the book tightly to her chest.

“I’m not going to hurt you or the book!”

With a battle cry, Lilith suddenly jumped in-between them and chucked a large amount of water into Aziraphale and Stan’s face.

“Oi!” Stan cried disgruntledly.

“Sorry Loki, I panicked!”

“I feel duty bound to tell you that, firstly, what you just threw was not holy water,” Aziraphale said matter-of-factly, while wiping some of the water off the face.

“Oh, don’t tell me you got it from Darren, again? I told you he’s a lying bastard!” Abaddon moaned at Lilith.

“Secondly,” Aziraphale continued. “As we have established many times already: I. Am. An. Angel!”

“Yeah, and?” Lilith asked.

“So… oh, I don’t have time for this!”

Before anyone else could say or do anything more, Aziraphale clicked his fingers and both women stood still as statues, with a placid expression on their faces.

“Right. You will both lie down and go to sleep. Those ridiculous cloaks should keep you warm enough in here.”

Abaddon and Lilith nodded dreamily and complied immediately.

“Before I go, I’ll put those out,” Aziraphale waved his hand in the direction of the candles which extinguished. "No need for any more fires today. Stan, Loki sorry, are you still with me?”

“Yeah… oh my god, what are you gonna do to me?”

“Nothing. So long as you promise to forget about all this and go and be a firefighter, that’s if of course, Armageddon doesn’t happen this afternoon.”

“What? That’s actually ‘appening?!”

“Yes, I’m afraid so. Right, well, toodle-pip and please, try to be a good lad if we survive all this.”

Stan tried to protest but Aziraphale was already vacating his body, which caused him to jerk about so much he ended up falling against the satanic altar and knocking himself out. Which was lucky really. Almost as though the angel had planned for that to happen. 

Aziraphale was back into the void, hoping this would be the last time he would ever have to do this. He sensed another willing body, who seemed to be attempting a séance.

He went for it. 

Once he had been fully accepted into his new host he opened his eyes and asked:

“Sprechen sie Deutsch?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The second queen song Crowley listens to, is called "No One But You". For anyone who doesn't already know, that song was written about Freddie Mercury after his death. It's incredibly moving. 
> 
> Comments and kudos are always welcome and adored. Seriously, they make me ridiculously happy!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry it's been a while!! 
> 
> You'd think that being lockdown would make it easier to write. Apparently not. 
> 
> Anyway, this chapter is FINALLY done. Hopefully there won't be such a looooonnng wait for the next one. 
> 
> Hope you like it and are keeping safe x

Chapter 8- Episode: The Doomsday Option (continued)

Ideally, considering the time restraint he was under, Aziraphale wouldn’t have had to call on the spirit world to contact a Mr Ron Ormorod, but his widow attending the séance had been very insistent. Aziraphale, albeit unintentionally, had allowed the soul of Ron Ormorod to find some peace and ascend to Heaven. Not that Heaven was going to care about his good deed at the moment. Still, Aziraphlae gave himself a pat on the back. Mr Ormorod’s unfinished business it seemed was to tell his wife to shut up. Very loudly. Now, Aziraphale wouldn’t normally condone such conversations between spouses, however if the man had hung around in the spirit world for years upon years, just so he could tell his wife to be quiet, maybe it was justified in this case.

The angel wondered idly if the woman he was temporarily sharing bodily accommodation with knew that she did in fact have some ability to contact the dead herself. He doubted it on reflection, otherwise she wouldn’t have been putting on such a charade for her audience.

After ushering her customers out, and after a few choice words from Mrs Ormorod, who was extremely unhappy about the way she had been spoken to in front of everyone, the woman sighed deeply, and headed to the kitchen for a well-deserved cup of tea.

As the woman began to pour, she happened to glance to the mirror on a table nearby and instead of her own reflection, she saw Aziraphale’s instead. The angel could hear her thinking that she was just seeing things and purposely looked away. Then, she pondered that perhaps that would explain the weird stuff that just happened. So she turned back around and walked towards the mirror. The Aziraphale in the mirror was, well, mirroring her every move, but Aziraphale had an idea. He performed a quick miracle so he was able to control the reflection. Once control had been established, he gave her a wave, from which the woman recoiled from in slight shock.

_This will surely make it easier to communicate._

“My dear Lady, I understand completely that you are alarmed, but if I could just have a moment without you panicking to explain-”

“I’m not panicking; I’m just waiting for you to explain what’s going on. There better be a good reason for all this.”

The woman turned back to her kettle and continued with what she was doing.

“Well... this is certainly a most encouraging start. Ah, no sugar for me thank you.”

“You’re sweet enough,” the woman replied, smiling as she turned back around and placed the mugs in between herself and the mirror as she looked at Aziraphale encouragingly.

Aziraphale blinked in surprise. He had indeed been thinking about a memory where Crowley had said that exact phrase to him. It had been in 1685, while both demon and angel had been to the funeral of King Charles II and had stayed at the palace as preparations were being made for the coronation of James II. Tea had first arrived in Britain twenty-nine years ago and had grown in popularity among the upper classes ever since. It was around this time that sugar and milk were starting to be added to the tea, however Aziraphale had not been completely convinced by their addition:

_“They’re putting it in everything Crowley.”_

_“Yeah, because it’s a luxury and they want to show off how super rich they are. Although, tea is a bit bitter, probably makes it drinkable.”_

_“It’s perfectly drinkable without.”_

_“So, wincing with disgust every time you take a sip is normal then?”_

_“Completely.”_

_It was at this moment that a servant had approached them and offered them a cup._

_“Oh yes please! I’ll try some milk in mine, but no sugar please.”_

_“He’s sweet enough,” Crowley said to the servant, who had subsequently smiled politely and moved on quickly._

_Aziraphale knew Crowley had been mocking him, but he also knew how to counterattack._

_“What a lovely thing to call me Crowley,” Aziraphale beamed as he took a sip and didn’t wince in disgust this time. He did still have to pick the tea leaves out of his teeth after however._

_“What?”_

_“Such a compliment, calling me sweet. Thank you.”_

_“I wasn’t complimenting you, I was insulting you!”_

They had bickered over this for the remainder of the day and it continued to be alluded to or used by Aziraphale himself throughout their later years. Particularly after 1908 when tea bags had been invented and the angel could finally make his perfect cup of tea.

“W-w-well quite, yes…”

The angel was amazed about how effortlessly this woman was able to infiltrate his thoughts, without even realising she was able to do it. 

_I believe this possession will work out nicely. Well it has to, really._

“I do beg your pardon dear lady,” Aziraphale continued. “I recognise your voice from somewhere, but I can’t place your face.”

“I know your voice as well love. You’re obviously not one of my… ahem… gentlemen callers, shall we say, otherwise I would recognise **_your_** face. Oh!”

She slapped her thigh as a realisation came to her.

“You must be one of the nice men that call Mr Shadwell sometimes.”

_She knows Sergeant Shadwell? Does that mean I’m in Scotland? No, don’t be ridiculous Aziraphale, she doesn’t have a Scottish accent!_

“Oh! You are the woman who answered the telephone yesterday! So you must his secretary?”

“Um, no dear. I don’t work for Mr Shadwell.”

“Oh I’m so sorry. You must be Mrs Shadwell!”

The woman laughed gleefully.

“No, no, we’re not married. Well… maybe someday…that would be nice.”

She blushed slightly as Aziraphale attempted to arrange his features into something resembling delight at the prospect.

“Yes, I’m sure it would. If you think he’s the one for you, who am I to argue.”

“I’m sensing that you’re not too fond of Mr S at the moment.”

Aziraphale relented.

“Not hugely at this present time, no. He’s the reason I’m having to commandeer human bodies.”

“I see. Oh, I actually see!”

To save some time, Aziraphale showed her the moment he discorporated.

“Yes, as we’re sharing this, well, **_your_** body, we can read each other’s thoughts, and see the memories that we’re thinking of. You are remarkably good at this, and astonishingly calm.”

“Well, when you get to my time of life, you’ve seen it all really. So, are you a demon then?”

Aziraphale sighed rather dramatically. A talent he had learned from Crowley.

“No!”

“I’m sorry if I’ve offended you. It’s just that Mr Shadwell called you that.”

“Yes, well, I’m sure the Sergeant has used the wrong terms for many people before. Calling you ‘jezebel’ for a start.”

She gave a sly giggle.

“I don’t mind really. I sort of am in a way.” She winked mischievously at Aziraphale. “I’ve never let what people said about me bother me-”

“Southern Pansy?!” exclaimed Aziraphale, having just seen a certain recollection of the woman’s.

“Right, so you’ve seen that memory.”

“He calls me a Southern Pansy? After all I’ve done for him, that’s what he refers to me as behind my back?”

This normally would not have bothered the angel quite so much, except that he had been called a number of distasteful names recently and he’d had quite enough of it.

“Like I was saying,” the woman consoled. “You shouldn’t let what people say about you effect you. Own it instead. Anyway love, what is your actual name?”

“Oh dear me. I’m very sorry, extremely rude on my part for not introducing myself. Bit out of sorts today. My name is Aziraphale. Angel, not demon.”

“Please to meet you, Aziraphale. I’m Madame Tracy.”

“Not Marjorie Potts?”

Aziraphale smiled and raised his eyebrows at her. He was already becoming rather fond of this woman. Madame Tracy scowled slightly, but there was no malice behind it.

“That’s what it says on my driving licence, yes. Never really liked it much.”

“I shall address you as Madame Tracy then.”

They both beamed warmly at each other. Aziraphale couldn’t believe how well this was going and was so comfortable sharing this corporation that he momentarily forgot why he was here in the first place.

“Right. Well, as pleasant as these pleasantries are, we really must discuss why I’m here.”

“Of course, fire away.”

“Before I do however… is that sprouts I can smell?”

“It is. I always put sprouts to boil before a séance. It’s a reassuring smell for my clients, who are mostly English as you no doubt would have guessed.”

“Not very, well… spooky is it?”

“They don’t want spooky; they want to be reassured. I try to provide some comfort for people. Even people like Mrs Ormorod…”

“Ah, sorry about that. I was just trying to speed the process along.”

“No, it’s alright love. The irritating bat had it coming.”

Madame Tracy’s hand flew to her mouth as she seemed to realise who she was talking to. She looked at Aziraphale guilty.

“Yes… I do believe she did rather,” Aziraphale reassured her with a smirk.

Immensely relieved, Madame Tracy lowered her hand and chuckled.

“You do realise, dear lady, that you do in fact possess some ability to actually contact the dead? That’s how Mr Ormorod was able to attract my attention so quickly. The poor man has been trying to talk through you for ages.”

“Really? Well I never. I’ve just been doing my shopping list in my head.”

“Oh dear me, we’ve managed to get side-tracked again and time is really of the essence!”

“Right. You said something about the Apocalypse?” 

So Aziraphale relayed all the information to Madame Tracy, who was a perfect audience member, nodding and gasping in the right places. She agreed wholeheartedly to help stop Armageddon in any way she could. There was one little nagging doubt however.

“Do we have to kill the poor dear. He’s only eleven and it’s not his fault that his father is the devil.”

“I am not happy about it either. It’s against my nature to kill anyone… but let’s not forget that he is the Antichrist, and if we don’t, the world will end. It’s one life, against the universe.”

Madame Tracy nodded solemnly and finished off her tea.

“I just have one more question before we plan what to do next.”

“Of course dear lady, anything you like.”

“I was just wondering… who is the handsome man with the sunglasses and red hair? He’s been popping into your head quite a lot.”

She put down her mug and gave Aziraphale a wicked grin.

“Oh, err… that’s nothing, he’s no one. Well, no, n-not no one. He’s my friend, just a friend. And not important right now,” Aziraphale finished giving Madame Tracy a pointed look.

“Whatever you say love,” Madame Tracy replied sweetly. “You’re not disputing that he’s handsome I see.”

Aziraphale looked back at her disapprovingly.

“Can’t say that I noticed,” he replied primly while trying not to blush. He had done enough of that over the last few days.

“Ok, ok I’ll stop teasing,” Madame Tracy reassured, and leaned forward seriously. “So, what exactly do you propose we do about this?”

“Given the circumstances, we’re both going to have to be extremely flexible.”

It was at this point that they were both interrupted by a familiar Scottish cadence.

“Get yur hands off her! You…”

Sergeant Shadwell stormed into the kitchen and looked around in confusion.

“Where is he?” he demanded at Madame Tracy.

“Who?” she replied innocently.

“Some Sothern Pansy. I heard him, making lewd suggestions.”

Aziraphale could have been quiet then and not revealed himself, however, this was an opportunity for the Sergeant to make up for his earlier mistake and, besides, they could do with an extra pair of hands. Even if those hands did belong to Sergeant Shadwell. As an angel, he was obliged to give second chances. Supposedly. Mainly though, Aziraphale simply couldn’t resist seeing the look on the Sergeant’s face when he realised who he was speaking to. Aziraphale grinned and announced his presence. 

“Not just **_a_** Southern Pansy, Sergeant. **_The_** Southern Pansy!”

_“See, I told you it feels better when you own it,”_ Madame Tracy thought at Aziraphale.

 _“Yes, I see what you mean. It is rather exhilarating isn’t it?”_ Aziraphale replied happily.

The Sergeant gasped in horror. “Demon! You know what this is?” he asked advancing forward and displaying his hand. “Four fingers, one thumb.”

_“Oooo, cheeky,”_ Madame Tracy giggled.

“ _Now who’s making lewd suggestions?”_ Aziraphale reprimanded her good-naturedly.

“Now, you get out of this good woman’s head before I blast ye to kingdom come!” Shadwell demanded while threatening Aziraphale with his finger.

_“I think you’d better talk to him.”_ Aziraphale instructed Madame Tracy. _“You’ll have better luck calming him down than I will.”_

_“Yes, you’re right. Leave this to me.”_

“That’s the trouble, Mr Shadwell,” Madame Tracy announced to the Sergeant. “Kingdom come. It’s going to.” She stood up and began to walk towards the Sergeant, who was being to look extremely confused about what was happening. “Mr Aziraphale has just been explaining it. You come have a nice cup of tea, and listen to him.” 

By now, Madame Tracy had walked over to the table where she performed her séances and had pulled out a chair for Shadwell to sit in. She smiled encouraging at him while the Sergeant looked indecisive.

“He’s… he’s not hurting you is he?” Shadwell asked Madame Tracy suspiciously.

“Of course he isn’t! He’s an angel so I’m perfectly safe. Now come and sit down you old silly.” She walked over to Shadwell and pulled him gently over to the chair and sat him down herself.

“Getting all worked up over demons when Mr Aziraphale is one of the nicest gentlemen I’ve ever met. How could you have thought he was a demon. Dear me.” Madame Tracy laughed to herself as she headed back to the kitchen to put the kettle on. As she went to retrieve the mugs from the table she glanced back at Shadwell who was pointing his finger at her which followed her every movement.

“Down boy,” Madame Tracy scolded him while smirking.

Shadwell complied and looked at his feet, grumbling softly.

“There we go. We won’t be a tick.”

Madame Tracy smiled wildly as she put the mugs into the sink.

_“Good work,”_ Aziraphale congratulated her. _“Although, could you please stop examining his finger and thumb?”_

“ _Well, you know what they say about what the length between a man’s index finger and thumb represents?”_

_“I believe dear lady, that that is a load of nonsense.”_

Madame Tracey chuckled benevolently as she went to retrieve the condensed milk from the fridge, and Aziraphale tried not to picture the size of Crowley’s hands.

_____________________

Crowley’s good mood had once again faltered. He was stuck in such a traffic jam that even he could not conceivably squeeze through, not without risking the Bentley’s paintwork. He’d switched back to listening to Radio 4, who were now informing him, after first apologising for playing The Clash earlier, and stating that they had no idea what had possessed the presenter to play it, or where he’d even gotten the music from, that:

_“…it’s official. This is the biggest traffic jam in England’s history!”_

“Why?” Crowley moaned, wishing the guy would sound less bloody cheerful about it. It almost made him miss listening to Ligur’s doom and gloom tone.

_“What you did to the M25 was a stroke of demonic genius, darling.”_

“Oh, no, no, no, no, no!” Crowley groaned, remembering that exchange between him and Lucifer. The M25 was not only the reason he was being held up from preventing Armageddon, but was also the reason he was given the job of delivering the Antichrist in the first place. As much as the demon enjoyed coming up with these schemes to inconvenience the human race as much as possible, he did often forget that they could also come back to bite him on the arse and inconvenience ** _him._** Not to mention how coming up with the great idea of using technology to communicate with Hell disrupted his time on earth most of all. Downstairs had obviously got it completely wrong and instead of simply calling him or WhatsApping him, they just cut straight into whatever he was watching or listening to and twisted it. As great as the advancement of technology was, it meant that Crowley was never able to completely enjoy it.

Crowley looked around him and had just decided that using the hard shoulder was the best way to cut through all this, when his demonic senses started tingling. He scanned the surrounding area to find the cause and noticed something very strange.

Normally in traffic jams, humans tended to be angry and frustrated. They would argue with their spouse or shout at their children. Often, men would get out of the car to see if they could see the cause. They never did. It was why Crowley liked causing traffic, it gave him some brownie points from downstairs. Right now, however, every human in every car of every age was staring straight ahead, zombie-fied, and seemed to be repeating the same phrase, over and over. Crowley concentrated on what they were saying and when he realised what it was, dismay pooled in the pit of his stomach.

When Crowley had interfered with the design of the M25 back in the 1970s, (by moving some markers across a field one night), he had changed it to resemble the dread sigil Odegra, meaning:

**_Hail the Great Beast. Devourer of Worlds._ **

****

That was what everyone around him was now repeating, which confused Crowley momentarily, because they were not actually on the M25 yet. This perplexity didn’t last long however as he first felt the shift in reality, then physically saw it ahead of him. It was hard to miss really. The M25 had become a burning magical ring of fire surrounding London. It was so tall that even the heavy rain that was pouring down would not have been enough to extinguish it.

_Well...this has just made everything a whole lot harder._

As Crowley groaned and gnashed his teeth in frustration the Radio 4 presenter piped back up.

_I’ve just had an update on the hold up caused by the M25. Well folks, this really is unbelievable, but it turns out that the M25… is on fire! And I don’t mean it’s doing great, it’s actually on fire! So… personally I would advise taking a different route. Or maybe just stay inside! I know we don’t usually play music here but I feel this is the perfect opportunity to play this track and I could never forgive myself if I didn’t!_

The track began which turned out to be Disco Inferno by the Trammps.

_Burn Baby Burn,_

_Burn Baby Burn,_

_Burn Baby Burn_

“Urggghh, shut up!” Crowley growled clicking off the radio, irritated by the far-too-happy presenter, especially given the circumstances.

_If I survive all this, I will personally ensure that that man is inconvenienced for the rest of his time on Earth._

“Right,” Crowley mused out loud. “The M25 is now an impassable burning ring of infernal fire, and that’s my fault. Come on. Tadfield, Tadfield, Tadfield.”

Crowley pulled over onto the hard shoulder and drove ahead so he could see what he was dealing with more clearly. He was thankful that everyone around him had turned to zombies as normally if he did this, people would honk their horns at him, copy him or pull out in front of him to stop him or at least slow him down. Since none of that happened, he covered a great distance in no time. Crowley was not sure what his plan was once he reached the edge of the fire, but was sure he would think of one once he got there.

_Aziraphale would know what to do. I know it’s technically my turn to come up with something, but he’d always come up with something better. What would the angel do?_

_He’d read the right book!_

Crowley came to a standstill and reached over and picked up Agnes Nutter’s book.

“Come on, there must be a way across it,” he muttered as he began to flick through the it. “Burning roads. You predict this Agnes? Why isn’t there an index?”

The lack of an index was soon to be the least of his problems. Just then, Crowley felt his glasses being tugged off his face and he followed their journey to the passenger’s side with surprise. His surprise quickly shifted to indignation at the sight of Hastur, who had somehow escaped the prison Crowley had made for him.

The only passenger Crowley had ever had in the Bentley had been Aziraphale, and Hastur was a poor substitution. He was definitely a far less attractive one compared to the angel. Not only was the Duke of Hell sitting in the angel’s seat, but he was also destroying Crowley’s glasses, maliciously. Which Crowley thought was a tad unnecessary. Not only that, it made him feel very exposed. His glasses were his safety net and they always made him feel more comfortable wearing them. Hastur, Crowley pondered, probably didn’t know this and was just being petty. However, the Duke of Hell had unwittingly given himself the upper hand in this dynamic.

“You’ll never escape London,” Hastur stated calmly, a grin spreading across his face. “Nothing can.”

“Hastur. How was your time in voicemail?” Crowley quipped. A defence against his vulnerability.

“Funny, ha ha, joke all you like Crowley. There’s nowhere to run.”

“Aren’t you meant to be lining up ready for battle around now?” Crowley asked, placing the book on the back seat.

“Hell will not forget. Hell will not forgive,” Hastur continued, stating the obvious, clearly enjoying himself immensely that Crowley was stuck. “You know where the real Antichrist is, don’t you? You’ll never reach him. You’re done Crowley. Think you’re going to get across that? There’s nowhere to go.”

Hastur snorted triumphantly to end his victory speech, and Crowley had meanwhile been thinking wildly about how to get out of the latest quandary in the line of recent predicaments. A surge of determination began to rise within him. He’d gotten out of the other tight spots, and there was no reason that he couldn’t get himself out of this one too. Plus, he was fed up of being spoken to and looked down on, like a house plant who had started shedding leaves on the carpet. It suddenly didn’t matter to him that he wasn’t wearing his glasses or that he was stuck in a mess of his own making. He needed to get to that airfield and to get to Aziraphale, to the one ridiculous ethereal being who truly mattered to him, and a huge intimidating obstacle of magical fire was not going to stop him.

_What the hell? What’s the worst that could happen?_

“Let’s find out,” Crowley firmly declared, slipping a Mozart CD into the player and purposefully started driving towards the fire. Crowley started to grin, not just at Hastur’s growing shock and anxiety but that the CD was playing an instrumental of Mozart’s requiem, the piece he’d revealed recently to the angel that he had a hand in. It filled him with confidence.

“What-what, why are you driving? That’s-what, stop this thing.” Hastur squirmed in his seat.

“You know the thing I like best about time? Is that everyday it takes us further away from the fourteenth century. I really didn’t like the fourteenth century. You’d have loved it then.”

Hastur grunted uncomfortably in response.

“They didn’t have any cars back in the fourteenth century. Lovely, clever human people inventing cars, and motorways, and windscreen wipers. You’ve got to hand it to them, haven’t you?”

They were getting closer and closer to the fire and Hastur had finally seemed to piece together what Crowley was about to do, and attempted to regain his dominance while trying to quell his panic. 

“Argh! Stop it. It’s over. You’re doomed. You hear me Crowley? You’re doomed! Whatever happens. Doomed!”

“See? This day’s already got better!”

A wild, animalistic nature by now had taken over Crowley, which was being driven by the adrenaline pumping through his body. Smoke started to fill the Bentley as he drove into the fire with a whoosh. Flames danced around them as Mozart morphed into Queen, and for the first time in a while, it did not bother Crowley. 

_The machine of a dream, such a clean machine_ _  
With the pistons a pumpin', and the hubcaps all gleam  
When I'm holding your wheel  
All I hear is your gear_

“Stop this!” Hastur cried, all control he had left melted into the heat engulfing them. “You’ll discorporate us both!” Hastur screamed with terror as Crowley cackled with glee.

“This is not funny!”

“Come on! If you’ve got to go, then go with style!”

Flames began to infiltrate the Bentley which licked around Hastur like a Witch on a pyre.

“I hate you!” Hastur shrieked and removed himself from the Bentley with a bang before the fire could consume him.

Crowley hooted in celebration. He had won the stand-off, now he just needed to keep this up all the way to Tadfield.

“You are my car,” Crowley threatened. “I’ve had you from new. You are not going to burn! Don’t even think of it!”

He grunted with the exertion of keeping the Bentley from falling apart and yelled to release some of the tension that was building up inside him. Eyes wide, pupils fully dilated, this was the most demonic he had looked in a long while.

_I’m fine. This is a fully functioning car. It has never let me down before and it’s not about to start now. I can do this._

Suddenly he was through the ring and speeding off to save the world. Despite how much this was exhausting him; Crowley could not help but enjoy how he looked. The Bentley was completely on fire and he looked, well, cool! He gave a cheerful wave to the two police officers parked nearby and began to sing along with the song blasting through the sweltering vortex surrounding him. 

_I'm in love with my car_

_Gotta feel for my_ _automobile_

_____________

Meanwhile, after Madame Tracy had supplied Sergeant Shadwell with a pot of tea, a bowl of sugar and a carton of condensed milk, Aziraphale had quickly filled Shadwell in on everything he needed to know. The angel was starting to get restless. Armageddon was in a couple of hours, and Shadwell was not exactly the brightest tool in the shed, so getting him to understand everything was taking longer than Aziraphale would have liked. Madame Tracy had attempted to help him, but they had just ended up talking over each other, so it was decided, by Aziraphale, that only he should talk for the time being. Shadwell was on his third cup of tea when he finally seemed to be understanding, and was no longer threatening Aziraphale with his finger or his words.

“The Antichrist must be killed, Sergeant Shadwell. And you… are the man to do it.”

Shadwell had been nodding along until this point, now he paused and his eyes darted to the side uncomfortably.

“Well, I don’t know about that,” Shadwell chuckled uncertainly. “Um, the Witchfinder Army, we just kill witches.”

“I’m sure you’ve killed lots of those!”

_“Do you really think so?” Madame Tracy asked doubtfully._

_“Well, no. Right now I’m starting to really evaluate why I thought employing Sergeant Shadwell was a good idea in the first place!”_

_“Oh well, he does try his best though poor lamb.”_

“Well, early days,” Shadwell continued, placing his cup down and quickly changing the subject. “This Antichrist of yours, how many nipples does he have?”

Aziraphale was stunned momentarily and was unsure of how to respond to such a ridiculous question.

_Madame Tracy started to chuckle. “He asks this a lot. He thinks the more you have, the eviller you are.”_

_“Ahh, right ho. Thank you!”_

“Oh… uh… oodles of them. Pots of nipples. Nipples everywhere!” Aziraphale laughed with mirth and wished Crowley was here to hear this conversation. He would find it highly amusing. 

“Then I’m your man!” Shadwell answered, seemingly satisfied with the angel’s response.

“Now Sergeant, what weapons do you have?”

“Oh, here.” Shadwell displayed his finger and thumb once again.

“Yes… anything more substantial?”

_“I dunno, it seems pretty substantial to me!” Madame Tracy giggled._

_“Not now dear lady!” Aziraphale chastised._

_“Sorry! I couldn’t help myself.”_

“Um, I’ve got pins…” Shadwell started to say, but seeing the unimpressed look on Aziraphale’s/Madame Tracy’s face, changed track. “And the Thunder Gun of Witchfinder Colonel Darlymple.”

Seeing that Aziraphale was more impressed with that weapon, Shadwell continued proudly.

“It’ll fire anything! Silver bullets.”

“That’s werewolves.”

“Eeh…Garlic?”

“Vampires.”

“Hmm. Bricks?”

“That should do nicely!”

Aziraphale gave a triumphant “Ha!” as Sergeant Shadwell chuckled, beamed and drank another gulp of tea. Aziraphale/Madame Tracy stared at him expectantly as slowly, realisation dawned on Shadwell.

“Oh, you want me to go and get it now?”

“Yes Sergeant, if you would! Aziraphale replied exasperated. “We do not have a lot of time to spare. So quickly Sergeant! On the double! Quick march!”

Aziraphale clapped Madame Tracy’s hands at him as Shadwell downed his tea, which mostly spilled over himself, and quickly left to retrieve the gun from his flat.

“I’m still really not sure about all this killing business,” Madame Tracy piped up. “But, I suppose if he is the Antichrist…”

“And has oodles of nipples?” Aziraphale attempted to joke to cheer her up, but his heart was not really in it. “Right,” he continued, reverting back to authoritarian. “We’d better make a move, we don’t-” 

“Want to keep Mr Crowley waiting?” Madame Tracy finished for him sweetly.

“I was going to say that we don’t want to be late for Armageddon. But yes, I suppose that too.”

Aziraphale had given up trying to deny his desire to see Crowley. Since Madame Tracy was privy to his thoughts, she could she quite clearly see that the demon was very much on his mind.

“I don’t suppose you own a mode of transport?” Aziraphale asked. “I don’t fancy taking the bus at this time of day.”

“I do as a matter of fact.”

Madame Tracy busied herself by first putting on her coat then calling across the landing to Shadwell to tell him to wrap up warm.

“It’s pouring down outside! It might be perfect weather for ducks, but certainly not for you. We don’t want you catching another cold do we Mr Shadwell?”

“I’ll wear what I please harlot!” Shadwell called back disgruntledly. Aziraphale began to chuckle as Madame Tracy walked across her flat.

“What’s so funny love?” she asked bemused.

“Oh, I do apologise. I certainly was not laughing at the Sergeant’s rudeness. I was merely laughing at your phrase about ducks. They’re what water slides off of.”

“Yes, I believe that’s the saying,” Madame Tracy said absentmindedly as she retrieved from her kitchen cupboard two motorbike helmets and two pairs of goggles. Shadwell joined them shortly after, holding his weapon proudly. Upon seeing the helmets, pulled a face and began to shake his head.

“Well how else did you think we were going to get there you silly billy?” Madame Tracy asked him. “And don’t point that big thing at me!” she laughed gaily as she drowned out his protests and led him out of her flat. Aziraphale sighed inwardly.

Rain was falling relatively heavily by now as they made their way to Madame Tracey’s scooter.

“I don’t think it’s strictly legal to have three people on this… but I suppose if two are sharing, we’ll get away with it,” Madame Tracy pondered. “Oh look! How romantic!”

She pointed across the road to two men who were engaged in a passionate embrace. They broke apart to catch their breath and laugh when Aziraphale recognized one of the men.

_“Are you gonna try and bum us right now?_ _”_

Aziraphale was momentarily shocked that the man who had not only tried to destroy his bookshop, but had also been incredibly rude over what he had assumed had been the angel’s sexuality, was now engaging in such activities himself! Anger threatened to take over Aziraphale, but he attempted to quell it and instead turn his attention to more important matters.

“Right, well, let’s not dilly dally. Let’s hop on and-”

“He said what to you?!” Madame Tracy cut across him horrified.

_Oh no._

“It doesn’t matter now dear lady, we really must-”

“Of course it matters! I’m going to go over there and give him a piece of my mind!”

“We really do not have time for all this! The Apocalypse-”

“Can wait,” said Madame Tracy firmly, as she began to stride across the street towards the men, leaving a very bewildered Shadwell behind. 

“No, no please! I implore you! There’s no need to make a scene.”

Aziraphale attempted to take control and turn them around. He got about half way before Madame Tracy resisted and tried to turn them back. This led to them floundering and grunting in the middle of the road as the men looked over in bafflement.

“Excuse me miss? Are you alright?”

The man Tommy had been kissing took a tentative step towards her, his South African accent containing notes of concern.

“She’s prob just drunk Enzo,” Tommy told him while trying to supress a grin at the comical sight before him.

“That does not mean we shouldn’t try to help Tommy. We should at least make sure she gets home safe.”

He walked closer to Madame Tracy and Aziraphale, and bent over slightly so they were at a better speaking height. He was a tall, muscular, handsome man and both Aziraphale and Madame Tracy stopped in their silent squabbling to gaze at him. Just like two toddlers who had been caught doing something naughty by a parent.

“Hello,” he said smiling kindly. “My name is Enzokuhle, but you can call me Enzo if that’s easier for you to say. What is your name?”

“Madame Tracy,” she replied, panting slightly from the exertion. “I’m very sorry about this, Enzoc… Enz…”

“Enzokuhle,” Aziraphale corrected her promptly.

“But I’m about to give your boyfriend a severe telling off.”

Madame Tracy stormed quickly over to Tommy, before Aziraphale had a chance to stop her. Enzokuhle stared after them in amazement, whether it was because of Aziraphale speaking or because of the furiousness of Madame Tracy was hard to tell.

Tommy backed away from her in alarm until his back was pressed against a wall and Madame Tracy waggled her finger at him furiously.

“Hey miss! Or… sir? Could you calm down please?!” Enzokuhle called after them in panic.

“Don’t ‘urt me!” Tommy yelped. “I’ve already been threatened by one red-haired maniac recently-”

“How dare you!” Madame Tracy shouted at him. “How dare you talk to Mr Aziraphale like that! And knock over his lovely books! Shame on you!”

“I am sorry about this,” Aziraphale cut in quickly. Tommy’s eyes widened at his voice.

“Don’t apologise to him! He should be apologising to you!”

“Right, that’s enough of that!” Enzokuhle rushed over and placed a hand on Madame Tracy’s shoulder to try and calm her down.

“Get yur hands off her, yur devil!” Shadwell bellowed from the other side of the street.

Everyone turned to look at him as he stood pointing his finger menacingly, despite holding the Thunder Gun in his other hand.

Enzokuhle blinked in puzzlement at Shadwell before raising his hands above his head.

“Dude, I was just trying to calm her down!” his eyes darted to the Thunder Gun and slowly began to reach in his jacket.

“Hands where I can see them!” Shadwell growled at him.

“Oh, Mr Shadwell…” Madame Tracy sighed, placing a hand on her chest and gazing adoringly at Shadwell.

“Can everyone please quieten down!” Aziraphale cut in angrily, eyes darting around and spotting the odd nosey neighbour peeping behind their curtains, some with a telephone in hand.

“I’m sorry!” Tommy suddenly yelled frantically dropping to his knees, and staring up at Aziraphlae pleadingly. “That… that is you, Mr Fell ain’t it?”

“It is dear boy,” Aziraphale replied cautiously. He had certainly not been expecting this kind of reaction from the man who had barged into his bookshop yesterday.

“Look… I’m not really sure of what’s happening ‘ere. I really don’t know why your voice is coming out of this old bint-”

“Cheek!” Madame Tracy cut in furiously.

“There was no need for that Tommy!” Enzokuhle told him seriously.

“But I’m really sorry!” Tommy continued before Aziraphale could express his displeasure as well. “Please… don’t hurt Enzo. It’s me you’ve got beef with. Stan and I… we didn’t want to do any of that stuff! We were just tryin’ to impress our Dad. But I’m taking your friend’s advice. I talked to Enzo about how I felt about him. We’re running away and getting out of London, leaving the family business and I’m gonna paint more and-”

“Hang on, hang on slow down. What friend of mine are you talking about?”

_He couldn’t possibly mean Crowley, could he?_

“You know, the tall skinny guy with red hair. Wears glasses to hide his eyes… he threatened to burn us and said not to come near you ever again, and I was not going to! You tell ‘im that when you see ‘im! You came to me, I didn’t go anywhere near you! We didn’t want to burn down your stupid bookshop!”

“Ok, that’s enough.”

Enzokuhle had walked over and stood Tommy up then pulled him into protective and comforting hug.

“He’s clearly very sorry and he’s learned his lesson. He will never do anything like this again. So, can we stop the interrogation now?”

Aziraphale was not really listening however. He was stunned at this new information. Crowley had stopped them from destroying his home, and had said _nothing_ to Aziraphale about it?

_Has he done this sort of thing before and I’ve just been oblivious?_

Aziraphale had been so focused on the fact that his bookshop was gone, he hadn’t even stopped to consider that Crowley might have been distraught and frightened by the fire.

_Did he blame himself? Oh… did he think I was dead?!_

“Has he told you everything he’s done and said?” Madame Tracy asked, narrowing her eyes.

“I was part of the gang led by Tommy’s Dad, so yes I know the things he’s done. I’ve hardly been a saint myself. As for what he’s said, I can imagine. We all have to say that stuff to survive in that environment. Tommy was very brave saying anything of that nature to me at all. And I forgive him. For everything.”

Tommy clutched onto Enzokuhle tighter and buried his face into his chest, shaking slightly with emotion.

“As do I.”

Tommy looked up from Enzokuhle’s chest in surprise. Aziraphale smiled at him.

“R-really, bruv?”

“Well, I am of course most displeased by your attitude and actions that day. However, you are clearly on the right path, so to speak, so yes I do forgive you. I am rather good at forgiveness. It’s part of my job.”

“As a bookseller?”

“As an angel.”

Both human men gasped in awe.

“I thought an angel of the lord would wear less pink,” Enzokuhle laughed pleasantly.

“Oh no dear, this is my body,” Madame Tracy chuckled. “Mr Aziraphale is just… renting it at the moment until he gets his own one back.”

_Well, hopefully I’ll get it back._

“No love, you will get it back,” Madame Tracy responded to his thought sincerely. “I’ll make sure of it.”

“Bruv, I ‘onestly thought you were a demon!”

“No, no definitely not. My friend who threatened you is though. But he is a nice demon, once you get to know him. Although, if you do happen to see him again, don’t tell him I said that. He doesn’t like being called nice.”

“Oi! This is no time for chit chat! I thought we were in a hurry and I’m wetter than a Scottish summer over here!”

They all turned to look in the direction of Sergeant Shadwell, who was indeed beginning to resemble a drowned rat.

“Right. Yes, the Sergeant’s absolutely right. We really should get going! Armageddon will not wait for us!”

“Can I just say, before we go,” Madame Tracy interjected and turned to face Enzokuhle. “Sorry for snapping at you Enzo. Not you Tommy, you had it coming. Also, Enzo, you really do have lovely arms-”

“Time to go!” Aziraphale ordered. “Although, I do concur. They are rather fetching.”

Enzokuhle chucked politely, then, seeing the jealous look on Tommy’s face, reached over and gave his hand a reassuring squeeze.

Aziraphale hurried Madame Tracy back over to the other side of the road, before turning briefly back to tell Tommy:

“By the way, your brother is developing an interest in Satanism and demon summoning. Might be a good idea to take him away with you before he gets in too deep. Cheerio!”

“’ang on… what?”

“Did you… also did you say something about Armageddon?!”

Neither Aziraphale or Madame Tracy responded, far too preoccupied with putting on their helmets and goggles. Madame Tracy sat down on the scooter.

“Sit behind us Mr Shadwell, and hold on nice and tight, there’s a good boy.”

Shadwell grumbled but complied. Wanting to have the final say on the heated exchange, Shadwell turned over to the two men and pointed two fingers at his own eyes and then towards them, but quickly had to put his hand down to clutch at the scooter once Madame Tracy had kicked it into life and it lurched forward. The two men watched them leave while holding hands, unsure of the strange ensemble they had just encountered.

As the trio tootled along a couple of streets, Aziraphale quickly got more and more anxious at the speed they were going. He never once imagined that he would miss going at the speed that Crowley drove at.

“Dear lady,” Aziraphale announced. “It seems to me, that we could make better time walking.”

“It’ll be a miracle to get it past ten miles an hour,” Madame Tracy responded, sharing the angel’s concern. 

“Miracles!” Aziraphale exclaimed. “Yes. Right. Uh, hold on extremely tightly, Sergeant Shadwell, if you’d be so kind.” Aziraphale glanced at the Sergeant in the scooter’s wing mirror, before a blue light glowed around the trio and the scooter began to rise off the ground.

Both humans screamed. One in joy and one in fear. 

“Don’t look down Sergeant Shadwell! And off we go then!”

The scooter surged forward, leaving an ethereal trail behind them. They were finally on their way. After first stopping to indicate at a stop junction of course, which was something that Crowley rarely did. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had way too much fun writing scenes for Aziaphale/Madame Tracey and Shadwell! I was very happy to make this chapter a bit more comical after all the angst that's happened. Also, I'm a slut for history, hence the little flashback :L 
> 
> Comments and kudos still very much appreciated!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM SO SORRY THIS HAS TAKEN ME SO LONG TO UPLOAD
> 
> Long and short of it, since the last chapter, I have moved house during a pandemic and had to get a new job which has long hours and it's tiring, but need that rent money so...
> 
> Just to reassure anyone, this does have an ending and it WILL get finished. When that will be I can't make any promises, but it will! 
> 
> Anyway, enough babbling from me, I really hope you like the new chapter <3

Chapter 9 - Episode: The Doomsday Option (continued even more)

Crowley gritted his teeth with the effort of keeping the Bentley together, and himself too if he was being honest. The Bentley, resembling more of a flaming tequila shot with wheels was still, against all odds, functioning well enough to speed along the winding roads towards Tadfield. Queen was still blaring from the CD player and for once Crowley was thankful for it. He found reciting the lyrics helped him to stay motivated.

_Flash! Ah-ah!_

_Saviour of the universe!_

He was on the outskirts of Tadfield when things started appearing, well, strange.

The first thing the demon noticed upon entering the village was two stereotypically dressed Tibetans poking their heads out of a hole in the middle of the road. Luckily for them, they had very quick reactions, but they still only just managed to duck out of the way of the oncoming Bentley. Crowley was slightly surprised, but it was nothing compared to the amazement he felt at the other things he saw. As he passed an open field he happened to glance to his right and actually slammed his foot on the brakes to take in properly what he was seeing. 

There was a spaceship parked in the middle of the field and surrounding it was a group of cowboys on horseback wearing the clichéd hats, firing guns and waving lassos at…

“Dinosaurs!” the demon exclaimed incredulously.

There was a fair assortment of them too, but only the well-known ones Crowley noted. Triceratops and Stegosauruses were roaring and swinging their tails at the cowboys who, judging by their incessant chorusing of “Ye-hah!” were having the time of their lives. Some had even managed to get on the back of a couple of Velociraptors and were riding them instead of their steeds.

Once he had gotten over the shock, Crowley came to the conclusion that this was the work of the Antichrist. The whole thing reeked of childish imagination.

_What is surprising though is that there isn’t a T-Rex. I mean, if anyone thinks about dinosaurs that is the first one that would pop into anyone’s head. There must be one around here somewhere…_

Crowley’s musings were suddenly interrupted by an ear-splitting roar. He looked ahead and saw a ginormous T-Rex, tiny arms and all, standing in the middle of the road a few feet away from the Bentley. It roared threateningly at Crowley again and stamped its feet. Squaring up, ready to charge towards the demon.

Of all the things that could have held him up, this was not something that Crowley expected. He really didn’t have time for this, so he revved the engine in response to the aggressive roar. The T-Rex took a step back. It clearly had not expected that. Encouraged by this, Crowley grinned wickedly, and without thinking about whether it was a good idea or not, slammed his foot on the accelerator and shot towards the dinosaur. The T-Rex gave a yelp of fright, turned on its heel and ran with the Bentley in hot pursuit.

_This is like a reverse Jurassic Park!_

Crowley laughed manically as he began to catch up with the T-Rex. The Bentley got right up close to the tip of the tail, which, to the demon’s surprise, caught fire! The T-Rex gave a howl of pain and ran off the road, making noises that sounded like sobs, and Crowley to this day insists that he heard the dinosaur wail “Mummy!” as it stomped off.

Crowley quickly slowed the Bentley down as he watched the dinosaur in his rear view mirror, making sure that it was definitely leaving and that it wasn’t going to follow him all the way to the Air Base. There was enough to deal with as it was. However, the dinosaur seemed too traumatised to go anywhere near the Bentley, so, satisfied, Crowley was about to carry on with his journey when his demon senses informed him that he was being watched. He looked to his left this time and saw a man wearing a very odd ensemble.

The man in question was in the middle of taking notes in a notepad, but had been distracted, understandably so, by the standoff between a dinosaur and flaming vintage car. He was dressed like a pirate, exactly like you would at a fancy dress party, except he wore a deerstalker on his head and held a pipe between his teeth. Crowley also noted that there was a magnifying glass tucked into the man’s belt right next to a cutlass. Both demon and pirate-detective locked eyes. He shouted something but Crowley couldn’t hear him over his music, so he politely pulled up next to the man and rolled down his window.

“Sorry, what did you say?” Crowley called to him over the din.

“I said, elementary my dear Watson. The game is afoot. Argh!”

He pointed towards his foot after making his pirate noise and began to laugh jovially.

Crowley gave a small laugh at the bizarre man.

“Good luck with whatever you’re investigating, Sherlock… ‘Long John Silver’ Holmes.”

Crowley gave the man a cheery wave and continued on his journey.

“Blimey. What am I going to come across next?” Crowley shook his head disbelievingly. “Hobbits? Wizards? Hobbits crossed with wizards?!”

It was none of those things.

“Oh come on! Really?” Crowley exclaimed as he stared up at the sky. “Flying pigs?!”

Light pink and looking extremely well fed, twenty or so of the disgruntled sows were hovering high above their sty. It was a miracle in itself that they had managed to rise as high as they had, as the wings in the centre of their backs appeared far too small to conceivably work at all. Crowley spotted the frantic farmer underneath them, running around wildly and holding a long butterfly net to try and get them back on the ground. His attempts were being hindered by his sheep dog who was following him around, yapping at the pigs in the sky and getting underfoot. As Crowley passed, the farmer actually tripped over the dog, falling unceremoniously face first into the squelchy mud.

Crowley began to laugh elatedly. He couldn’t help it. This day had been such a rollercoaster of events and Armageddon hadn’t even happened yet. Crowley revelled in the chaos surrounding him, almost admiring the Antichrist’s work. This was more his thing. Never mind the burning oil or shoving long spikes up places where they shouldn’t be that Hell usually went in for. This was much more fun.

Crowley began to wonder idly that if this was the effect that the Antichrist was having on the surrounding area that, maybe, he wasn’t exactly the spawn of Satan that Hell had wanted him to be…

The Bentley suddenly gave a loud creak as though it was about to collapse due to its condition, and Crowley quickly snapped back to concentrate on maintaining the workings of his beloved car. 

“Don’t you dare!” he growled at the car. “We’re nearly there, you are not going to break down. Not ever! Understand?!”

The Bentley seemed to moan in response, but showed no more signs that it wasn’t happy with its present condition. Crowley, now fully back to preserving his surroundings, accelerated the Bentley onward, until his vision was compromised by a sudden deluge of objects raining down on him.

______

Despite Aziraphale’s inexperience driving at such a speed, the onslaught of rain and Shadwell’s consistent moaning, the trio made significant progress towards Tadfield. The only one who seemed to be enjoying themselves was Madame Tracy, who “oooo”d and “ahhh”d at the scenery underneath them.

“It looks so different from up here doesn’t it? I’ve never flown myself, not had the money for it. If I’d known it was like this, well I’d have flown all over the world! Still wouldn’t have had the money of course, but I would have found a way I’m sure! Look Mr Shadwell, the cars all look like the little models you collect from up here. Aren’t they sweet?”

“Quiet you… you mangy… you… urgh I cannae look!”

Shadwell buried his face into her back.

“My dear lady,” Aziraphale began a little exasperatedly. “Could you kindly keep your gaze on the direction we’re going? As we are sharing sight, I’d rather that we weren’t looking all over the place otherwise we will never get there! Sergeant, could you please release your grip on us ever so slightly? It’s getting rather hard for us both to breathe!”

Shadwell groaned, mumbled something about how Aziraphale had told him to hang on tight, but obliged. Madame Tracy hurriedly apologised and faced ahead. 

Aziraphale’s anxiety over their fast travel and being so high in the air without a safety net was being heavily outweighed by his dread that they were going to be too late. He chastised himself continuously for not being more on the ball. He always was so slow…

_“Everything will be ok,”_ Madame Tracy thought at him gently

_“We will get there and sort it all out. You’ll see.”_

Aziraphale could only grimace in response and hoped that Madame Tracy could understand that he was grateful for her reassurance.

They were speeding towards the M25 when they saw the blazing inferno. Madame Tracy gasped and Shadwell started yelling about devils coming for their souls. Aziraphale stopped them dead in mid-air.

“Crowley!” he whispered in horror and due to his shock, the scooter dropped towards the ground, just like a cartoon character that had just realised they had walked off a cliff. Madame Tracy and Shadwell both screamed with terror as Aziraphale pulled up just in time, narrowly missing flattening the black Jaguar underneath, (which looked very similar to what the prime minister was driven in) and headed straight towards the ring of fire to hover above it.

“Bloody women drivers!” Shadwell grumbled disgruntledly.

“Excuse me, but I’m not the one driving anymore,” Madame Tracy retorted, breathing heavily from the recent fright.

“Yeah, well, his kind aren’t much better!” Shadwell shot back.

“Says the one who has never owned a driving licence!”

“Oh, will you please be quiet?! Both of you!” Aziraphale shouted agitatedly. 

They both stopped bickering immediately as Aziraphale frantically surveyed the dreadful scene below them for any sign of the Bentley. 

_Is this Hell’s work or is it Crowley’s? No… he wouldn’t do something like this, this is on too big of a scale. So it must be Hell… oh Lord…_

“Perhaps this is the because of Armageddon?” Madame Tracy asked tentatively, interrupting the angel’s anxious examination. 

“How is that any better? If Crowley was caught up in this?”

“We don’t know that. He could have passed through before the fire started…”

“He is also fire proof…”

Suddenly, the inferno underneath gave a burst of flame, and Aziraphale quickly rose them higher. Shadwell gave a whimper and returned to burying his face in Madame Tracy and holding on for dear life.

“But, we’re not!” Aziraphale cried. “Let’s continue on our way.”

They carried on with their journey in silence, considerably faster than before as Aziraphale tried not to think about Crowley’s wellbeing. As they neared Tadfield the rain subsided and the silence was broken by Shadwell, who gave a muffled cry of surprise. He shook his head violently to get whatever it was that smacked him in the face off him. Aziraphale quickly put on the brakes and they all watched what it was fall to the ground.

“A fish?!” Madame Tracy exclaimed. “What is it doing all the way up here?”

“Ah,” Aziraphale began. “That will be the showers of fish that was prophesied.”

“I thought it was frogs?”

“That was Moses, we’ve moved on from that. At least it was only one, let’s keep moving.”

“Oh, I’m fine by the way,” Shadwell grunted testily.

“Jolly good Sergeant,” Aziraphale responded with mock cheerfulness. 

“Did that really happen then?” Madame Tracy asked Aziraphale. “The parting of the Red Sea and the plague of locusts?”

“It did indeed,” Aziraphale replied sadly. “A story for another time dear lady. Right now I really need to concentrate. I’m rather like a fish out of water at the moment, if you’ll pardon the expression.” 

They had hardly covered a few metres when another fish rained down on them. Then another. Before they knew it, there was a torrent of slimly scales all around them, slapping any area of skin they could reach. Between the cries of pain emanating from the humans, the angel managed to form a sentence of attempted reassurance.

“Don’t panic-”

“Ow!”

“I’ll get us-”

“Argh!”

“Out of-”

“Ouch!”

“Here.”

Aziraphale prepared himself for what he was about to do. Imitating Crowley’s driving as best he could, he bobbed and weaved through the heavy shower, but it became increasingly clear that he did not have the right skill set for this situation.

“Oh, this is useless! Wait a moment… I’ll miracle them away!”

The scooter wobbled as Aziraphale lifted Madame Tracy’s hand to click her fingers. However, instead of the fish disappearing, there were now loaves of bread descending around them accompanying the fish.

“What the dickens?!” Aziraphale exclaimed.

“Oh… I think that might be my fault…” Madame Tracy muttered apologetically. “I was just thinking about how biblical this was, then I started thinking about Jesus and the loaves and fishes and whether that also happened if you know, all the stuff with Moses had happened and well…”

A particularly large loaf hit Madame Tracy on her helmet which shocked her into silence.

“I had no idea that performing miracles would be such a nuisance in this situation, having never tried while sharing with someone else. Let’s try again.”

The angel clicked his fingers once more and there was a change, but still not the one he wanted. The fish burst into pieces of sushi and the simple loaves were now upmarket slices of sourdough.

“That wasn’t me,” Madame Tracy quickly stated.

“Oh for goodness sake!” Aziraphale wailed frustratedly. “Right, well, we will just have to deal with our current predicament, there is no more time to waste!”

Aziraphale pelted them forward even faster than they had done before as Shadwell spat out a piece of sushi, seemingly repulsed by its flavour.

_____

“Urgh, where is it?!”

Crowley had been driving around the Tadfield area for a good ten minutes now, looking for a sign to direct him towards the Air Base. Surely there would be one. Crowley’s frustration, not helped by the smell of burnt fish engulfing his senses, which had been caused by a torrential downpour of the scaly bastards, was near enough ready to explode out of him. Without properly thinking about it, Crowley slowed down to a crawl to reach over to grab the map that Aziraphale had produced with a flourish two days ago. Then with a snarl realised that it would be burned to a crisp by now and the he really did not have the demonic prowess right now to summon another one. A fire proof one preferably.

_“There’s no need to be like that. There’s no shame in admitting you’re lost_.” 

“ _ **We’re**_ _lost_.”

Except this time, it was just the demon that was lost. If he wanted to be reunited with the angel, he would have to think like him.

_We will we will rock you!_

_We will we will rock you!_

As the motivational song sang out, Crowley rounded a corner to what looked like the centre of Tadfield village. To the demon’s delight, he spotted a man ahead of him walking his dog and pulled up next to them.

“Ah, excuse me?” Crowley called to the man as he wound down his window. “Sorry to bother you. I seem to have got slightly lost. Tadfield Air Base?”

The man did not answer straight away, his attention completely on the mechanic inferno in front of him. Crowley gave the man a swift glance and got the measure of him within seconds. The village’s busy-body. Tweed coat with a shirt and tie tucked neatly under a jumper. Nothing was out of place. He probably owned a moustache comb which he kept in a special little box on his bedside table. Aziraphale would approve. Crowley was momentarily concerned that the man was about to erupt with a violent outburst about how he and his flaming Bentley had no place in his village and was about to call upon the angry mob with pitchforks to drive him out, who would be on hand for this exact situation. Luckily for the demon though, the British manners kicked in and the man forced a polite smile and answered Crowley. 

“Might have taken the wrong turn. Signpost blown down. Easy mistake to make. So, uh, second on the right.”

_Of course it is. I’ve passed that turning about five times already!_

“Right. Got it. Terrific.”

Crowley smiled warmly at him and turned to start up the Bentley.

“Young man?” the man began with a hint of irritation.

“Yes?”

_Here we go._

“Very unusual weather for the time of year.”

_He really is fighting the urge; he’s doing well though._

“I’m afraid I hadn’t noticed.”

Crowley pulled away, but not before he heard the man shout after him:

“That’s probably because your stupid car is on fire!”

_There it is._

Hoping for no more obstacles, antichrist-produced or human, Crowley pushed his foot completely on the accelerator and turned second on the right. The Bentley gave yet another piercing creak of complaint but Crowley ignored it. He knew the Bentley would get him there, it always did. What was on his mind right now was getting to his angel. Optimistically, he knew that he would be there waiting for him. 

_____

Thankfully, as the trio neared the air base, the sushi and sourdough had subsided and as they descended on the base the sun was now shining, giving the puddles a heavenly glow. They landed with a bump as Aziraphale gave a huge sigh of relief. After this journey, he felt he would be more comfortable with future drives in the Bentley. If there were any that was…

Regardless, the angel was rather relieved to be back on solid ground.

After coming to a stop at the air base’s entrance, Aziraphale spotted a solider in his peripheral vision putting down the book he was reading and beginning to head over to them, his finger resting on the trigger of his weapon. Aziraphale and Madame Tracy both grunted with the effort of putting the scooter in park and quickly took off their helmet to confront the solider as diplomatically as possible. Unfortunately, however, the Sergeant was the first to open his mouth.

“You see this finger, laddie? This finger could send you to your maker.”

Shadwell pointed his finger smugly towards the solider and Aziraphale swiftly waved his hands in agitation to direct the soldier’s attention onto him instead.

“It really is vitally important that we speak to whoever is in charge.”

“He’s telling the truth. I’d know if he wasn’t,” Madame Tracy pipped up.

“Will you please stop interrupting? I am trying-”

“I just thought I’d put in a good word for-”

“Yes, I understand, but you must really-”

“Will you please be quiet?! Both of you?” the solider interjected impatiently. They desisted immediately, feeling once again like a pair of naughty children.

 _“You see?”_ Madame Tracy thought at Aziraphale. _“This is how it feels when you snap at me and Mr Shadwell.”_

_“Yes, ok, point taken dear lady. I still think it would be best if I take it from here for the time being. We have to be careful how we conduct ourselves in this environment.”_

It was quickly dawning on Aziraphale who they were talking to here. An American. With a gun. Not always the best combination. He would have to tread carefully.

“I mean… ma’am?” the solider continued, slightly confused by the conflicting voices, but nevertheless was going to remain professional. 

“I must respectfully ask you to-”

However, no amount of professionalism would be enough to ignore what came speeding towards all of them at that moment. As they turned to look towards the commotion, at first, Aziraphale was not entirely sure what he was looking at, but as the object got closer, he realised it was the Bentley engulfed in flames. Since it was still in motion and was emanating the usual raucous air, the angel was happy to conclude that Crowley was driving it, but what state he would be in in comparison to the car, he did not know. The Bentley skidded to a stop near them and Aziraphale held his breath as the car door opened.

_So you think you could stone me and spit in my eye?_

_So you think you can love me and leave me to die?_

To his immense relief and delight, the demon emerged from the car, looking a little singed around the edges, but otherwise not hurt. As Crowley slammed the door with his usual flourish, he announced proudly:

“You wouldn’t get that sort of performance from a modern car!”

Crowley’s elation at having made it, with - by his calculation - fifteen minutes to spare, meant he didn’t really care who he was addressing. Smoke was slightly disrupting his vision, as was the bright sunlight, but he hoped that one of the people in front of him was Aziraphale. Suddenly remembering that the angel had to find a body and that he wouldn’t recognise him, Crowley felt a small stab of sadness at this, which quickly vanished once a woman walked towards him and exclaimed affectionately:

“Crowley!”

Aziraphale was so overjoyed to see him, that he momentarily forgot that he wasn’t in his own corporation anymore, and hastily resisted the urge to run over and embrace Crowley.

“Hey, Aziraphale! I see you found a ride,” Crowley responded jovially as he sauntered over to him. “Nice dress. Suits you.”

Aziraphale chuckled, slightly flustered as Madame Tracy started to give her opinions on the new arrival to the group.

_“He is very dashing isn’t he? Lovely fashion sense, those jeans really show off his figure don’t they? I can see what you see in him love.”_

Aziraphale hastily ignored her observations, feeling once again, heat settling in his shared face. It was hard to tell whether this was due to his own feelings, Madame Tracy’s intrusive remarks - albeit accurate ones - or simply from the fire ball that used to be the Bentley.

Crowley, meanwhile, was marvelling at how strange it was for the angel to be in a different body. Not that he would mind what corporation Aziraphale would embody per say. Still, you get used to certain things after six thousand years. Crowley, now that he was properly thinking about it, was seriously wondering how Aziraphale would get his body back.

_He probably never will…_

That thought was too much for Crowley, who was now determined that Aziraphale would not notice how his new body was making the demon feel. Armageddon was about to start, so it was not like they didn’t have more important things to worry about. 

“Right, ahem,” Aziraphale began as Crowley stopped next to him, resolutely maintaining a light-hearted performance. 

“Now this young man won’t let us in.”

Crowley leaned in and whispered:

“Leave it to me.”

Both Aziraphale and Madame Tracy gave an involuntary little shiver and the seductive nature of that statement as Crowley walked away from them. From Crowley’s perspective, he was just so delighted to have made it and to be back with Aziraphale, whatever form he was in, that he naturally began to channel his James Bond demeanour again.

_I mean, considering what it took to get here, this should be a piece of cake._

“Army human,” Crowley addressed confidently to the solider. “My friend and I have come a long way, and-”

It was at that moment that the gates to the base opened by themselves. Crowley was taken aback and wondered idly if he’d done that accidentally. Exhaustion from keeping the Bentley going was already starting to overcome him so he could have easily done it without realising. 

“Which one of you did that?” the solider demanded, but his question was answered immediately by the ding from a bicycle. Four children rode straight through the wide open gates without even glancing at the ensemble next to them.

“Ok, those kids are in big trouble. And so are you people. Don’t move!” 

What happened next happened in very quick succession. As the solider ran back to his hut a klaxon began to blare in the air base. Both angel and demon began to realise that one of the children who just passed them must have been the Antichrist, but before either of them could state this thought out loud to the other, there was a colossal explosion from behind as the final line from an incredibly famous Queen song sang out feebly. 

_Anyway the wind blows…_

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic in a LONG time and I'm so happy to be writing again!


End file.
